


Remnants of the Republic

by mudkippy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, BAMF CT-7567 | Rex, BAMF Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Bittersweet Ending, CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano Friendship, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Drowning, Episode: s07e12 Victory and Death, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Limbs, Minor Character Death, No Romance, Not A Fix-It, Order 66, Platonic Relationships, Post Episode: s07e12 Victory and Death, Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, Survivor Guilt, Tragedy, Whump, fic is canon compliant so anyone who isn't confirmed alive in canon is fair game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 78,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkippy/pseuds/mudkippy
Summary: The Republic has fallen, the Jedi Order destroyed. Against all odds, ex-Padawan Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex have survived Order 66 and the crash that killed the rest of their command. They struggle to merely make sense of the Empire’s first days until a coded transmission from an old friend draws them back into the conflict igniting across the galaxy. As Ahsoka and Rex flee from Onderon to Kashyyyk to the far reaches of the Outer Rim, they must trust in the Force, their skills, their allies—some now their enemies—and, most of all, in each other. These days, survival carries a high price—and hope an even steeper one.
Relationships: CT-21-0408 | Echo & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex & CC-3636 | Wolffe, Rafa Martez & Trace Martez & Ahsoka Tano, Trace Martez & Ahsoka Tano, Trace Martez/Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 169
Kudos: 126





	1. Only Two, There Are

**Author's Note:**

> Triggers are marked on each specific chapter. 
> 
> Updates weekly, on weekends.

**Lostar Sector  
1.5 hours after Order 66**

Ahsoka pressed herself against the transparisteel gunner’s turret, feverishly scanning the remnants of her ship. The fallen _Venator_ had plowed nose-first into the moon’s surface, leaving a debris field ten klicks long scored into the earth behind it. The primary bridge and engines had been lost during reentry, and the exterior shielding had been badly scorched. Fires burned along the blackened hull and secondary bridge. Flaming chunks of durasteel rained from the sky, pinging off the Y-wing’s engine covers. Any moment now, small white-armored figures would crawl from the wreckage to set up triage sites and organize search parties. She had seen it a thousand times before. Clones never went down without a fight. 

Rex set the Y-wing down a dozen meters from the cruiser’s fore. The moment they landed, Ahsoka threw the turret open and sprinted towards the wreck. 

“Commander, wait!” Rex shouted, running after her. “They’ll shoot you on sight!” 

Ahsoka used the Force to leap high onto the _Venator’s_ foredeck, then down into the hangar. Around her, the cruiser creaked as it settled into the muck. Sparks drifted down from the ceiling, sputtering against the floor. A crooked bar of frosty light streamed through the warped hangar doors, illuminating the unmoving, white-armored bodies heaped against the far wall. 

Most of the 332nd had been in the hangar at the time of the crash, but there were engineers, soldiers recovering in the medical bay, search parties that had fanned out to distant parts of the ship, a permanent guard stationed outside the life support systems, and the command crew in the secondary bridge. It was impossible for the entire 332nd to have been taken out at once. 

She heard movement behind her and whirled around, lightsaber drawn, relieved that someone had survived and—

Rex detached his ascension cable from his pistol, his hands held up in surrender. 

Ahsoka deactivated her lightsaber and gestured helplessly at the fallen clones, trying and failing to speak as tears welled in her eyes. 

“They must have died on impact,” Rex said. He stopped level with her and removed his helmet with shaking hands. “I don’t think they suffered long.” 

“The ship is huge,” Ahsoka said, finding her voice. “There _will_ be survivors. We need to look.” 

“We should go,” Rex said. “Someone could be coming after us. We don’t—” 

“I need to know.” 

_I need to know if I killed everyone in my command. I need to know if I’m responsible._

The last time clones had attacked her, the cause had been determined in a matter of hours and the reversal had been as simple as rupturing the cooling system. Ahsoka had assumed the chips were something similar; she had truly believed she could save the entire 332nd in time to recapture Maul. Instead, her selfishness, arrogance, and short-sightedness had allowed Maul to escape, killing potentially two thousand men in the process. 

“We should check the medical bay,” Rex said. “It’s in the central part of the ship.” 

They took a circuitous route to avoid hallways blocked or collapsed by the collision. Dead clones dotted the corridors, but she pushed away the guilt, hoping it would be assuaged when they found the survivors. At her side, Rex was silent, but his dwindling hopes stoked her own distress. 

Ahsoka used her lightsaber to cut a hole in the jammed medbay doors, pulling the jagged chunk towards them to avoid injuring anyone on the other side. It was a pointless courtesy. The adjacent magazine had folded into the medbay, crushing five rooms into a space less than three meters wide. A slurry of blood and bacta oozed down the slanted floor, soaking into Ahsoka’s boots. 

“The secondary bridge,” Rex suggested. 

They returned to the main corridor, towards the lifts that would take them to the bridge. Rex pried the doors open and Ahsoka leapt into the shaft to begin her climb. 

Rex stuck his head in after her. “Commander, wait. We shouldn’t split up.” 

Ahsoka paused, her fingers hovering over her next handhold. She looked up into the darkness, then back at him. The pristine bandage on his scalp was a sharp contrast to his filthy, scorched armor. 

She had made him a survivor. She couldn’t make him the only survivor. 

She jumped back, landing beside him, and said, “Then there’s one more thing I can try.” 

Ahsoka folded her legs and closed her eyes, tamping down her emotions as she opened her awareness to the entire ship. First, she sensed herself. Her equilibrium—often tenuous at the best of times—had vanished. Next, she felt Rex, the familiar warmth of his presence dimmed by grief. After that ... nothing. 

Infuriated, she reached into the galactic Force itself. 

A roiling cacophony of screams echoed back from across the stars. Images flashed behind her closed lids: a crashing starfighter, the blue rain of clone blasters, the Temple aflame, falling and falling and _falling_ as each life was extinguished in a final rush of confusion and terror. Her own feelings of pain and fear and anger and loss were magnified by thousands, dragging her deeper into the floods of chaos. 

_Master!_ she cried, struggling against the torrent. She couldn’t even _feel_ him anymore. She called for him, and Obi-Wan, Master Plo, Master Yoda— _anyone_. Only the last cries of the dying answered her. 

“Ahsoka!” 

Someone was shaking her. 

She snapped back into the present. Rex was standing over her, his hands on her shoulders. 

“What did you see?” he asked, voice cracking. 

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Then, “No one survived the crash, and ... the Jedi Order is gone.” 

“Gone?” 

“I can’t sense anyone—not even Anakin.” 

The wind whistled through the empty corridor. 

“There were one hundred fifty emergency codes all clones learned at Kamino,” Rex said, lowering himself onto the floor beside her. “Order Sixty-Six was ... a joke to us. The Jedi were our generals. We never thought—” 

“The Jedi didn’t turn against the Republic,” Ahsoka said. “Someone made the clones turn on them.” 

“Lord Sidious,” Rex said immediately.

Ahsoka drew her knees against her chest. “That’s what Maul said.” 

“I spoke to Sidious. He gave me the order.” 

“ _What_?”

“The Order Sixty-Six transmission came from a hooded man,” Rex said. “When he gave the order, I had to...” He clenched his fists. “I called him Lord Sidious—Darth Sidious. I don’t know why.” 

“Maybe you assumed it had to be him,” Ahsoka suggested. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Neither do I.” 

They sat in silence for a long time. 

“We should move out,” Rex said. “The Republic might send a search party to investigate.” 

“We need to gather supplies first,” Ahsoka said, rising. “It’ll be easier to remain hidden if we don’t need to buy or steal them.” 

They raided the troop quarters first; many had a handful of hard-won credits acquired during leave. Ahsoka let Rex conduct the search and did not hurry him when he lingered by Jesse’s locker. She found a spare cloak and put it on immediately, knowing she would eventually need a better disguise than a piece of fabric if she truly meant to disappear. Then, they moved to the mess, the armory, and finally to the communications hub, where Ahsoka ripped out the circuit boards. They would fetch a few thousand credits after she had stripped off the precious metals. 

As they worked, a corner of Ahsoka’s mind kept searching for Anakin. He was the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy; he could not simply be _gone_. Years ago, Anakin had believed her lost, too, but she had still found her way back to him. Could he do the same? 

“Do we have everything?” she asked when they had finished. 

Rex gestured to the pack sitting at his feet. “Enough for a standard week, at most.” 

The unspoken question hung in the air between them. 

“Then let’s go,” Ahsoka said, slinging the pack over her shoulders. “Like you said, we shouldn’t stick around to see who finds us.” 

They walked back through the hangar, their footsteps echoing off the high ceilings. Ahsoka’s stride stuttered as she passed the dead clones again. Rex stopped; she took a few more steps before grief dragged her back. No matter how noble her intentions, she had been arrogant, so sure in her power that she thought she could save them while saving herself, and her men had paid the price. Rex was still paying—would pay it, for the rest of his life. 

“My brothers did one last thing for us, Commander,” Rex said bitterly. 

“What was that?” 

“Die. Now no one will know we survived.” 

It was the slimmest, most shameful victory they could have claimed. Ahsoka’s throat burned as she struggled to think of a way to honor the lives she couldn’t save. Impulsively, she said, “We should bury them.” 

“It’s alright. We don’t expect a funeral.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” Ahsoka said, “but only if you agree.” 

Rex tore his gaze from his dead brothers and nodded once, slowly. “I think ... I think they’d like that.” 

It took hours to search the ship and haul the bodies out of the wreckage. Many hallways and rooms were inaccessible; of the two thousand crew aboard at the time of the crash, just forty-eight were stretched out under the bleak sunlight. The rest would have to remain entombed with the ship. 

Rex seized his shovel and plunged into his task with single-minded intensity. Ahsoka moved to his left and placed her hand over the mud, calling upon the Force as she pictured the dirt parting before her. Some residual chaos from her earlier contact fluttered against her mind, but a moment later, she had created a perfectly uniform grave, the dirt neatly piled beside it. She glanced at Rex, terrified that she was cheapening his labors, but his attention was fixed solely on his shovel. 

Ahsoka shaped graves until her vision blurred from exhaustion, but at the end of her strength, there were still so many and so few graves left to dig. She staggered over to the second shovel and took it up to finish the job. The soil was heavy, and soon Ahsoka’s back ached and her fingers were blistered, but she gritted her teeth and kept digging in silent synchrony beside Rex. 

There seemed to be no night on the moon. They toiled in a timeless span—maybe for hours, maybe for days—until finally, they had carved out their forty-eighth grave. Moving in silent synchrony, Ahsoka took the shoulders of the first clone, Rex, his feet, and they lowered his rigid body into the ground. It would have been easier with the Force, but Ahsoka felt it would have been disrespectful. 

Together, she and Rex regarded the dead clone, his face concealed behind his cracked orange helmet—a helmet he had painted for _her_. 

A hot rash of humiliation crept up her face as she asked, “Who is this?” 

Rex climbed into the grave and removed the man’s helmet. “It’s Slew, Commander.” 

Slew had been with her since Ryloth. How could she have forgotten? 

“He was issued new armor just before Mandalore,” Rex said. “He hadn’t had a chance to decorate it.” He gently placed Slew’s helmet beside his grave. “Maybe ... we should take their helmets off.” 

They buried forty-six more clones, naming each of them in turn before pushing the dirt back over their bodies, leaving an unadorned mound in place of a man. 

The last was Jesse. They had found him among his men in the main hangar, his neck broken and his armor smeared with blood. Now, he lay beside his waiting grave, his arms resting stiffly at his sides. 

“When did he become an ARC trooper?” Ahsoka asked. 

“About two months after you left,” Rex said. “Our company was pinned down behind a wrecked gunship and this idiot charged forward with a belt of thermal detonators. He took out two spider droids and a hundred clankers by himself. General Skywalker recommended him for the ARC program soon after. I think he wanted to make it up to us after ... after Fives.” 

Ahsoka eased off Jesse’s helmet. It was apparent, now, that he was dead. His half-lidded eyes had rolled back to reveal the whites and a dribble of blood trailed from his slack mouth. Ahsoka turned away, suddenly wishing she had just kept his helmet on. 

She heard a thump as Rex pushed Jesse into his grave. Wordlessly, he began shoveling dirt over his friend. Ahsoka hovered for a moment, then bent to help. 

Finally, Rex stepped forward and placed Jesse’s helmet atop his marker. Then, he leaned on his shovel, staring out at the graves stretching between them and their cruiser. In the Force, his grief was a monolithic twin to her own. 

Forty-eight helmets marked their graves, propped on wreckage twisted off the cruiser. About half bore her facial markings, rendered in chipped orange paint. Others were unadorned shinies. A few were transfers, flakes of their old unit paint showing alongside bold 501st blue. One was Coruscant Guard, distinguished by his dazzling scarlet helmet. Neither Rex nor Ahsoka had known his name. 

“Would you like a moment?” Ahsoka asked. 

“That won’t be necessary, Commander,” he responded, his voice painfully constricted. He lifted his pack and slung his shovel over his shoulder. “I’ve had a lot of practice saying goodbye to my men.” 

He walked away, his eyes fixed resolutely on the Y-wing. Ahsoka wanted to call him back, to console him, to apologize, to hold onto him so she wouldn’t face the judgement leveled by the silent rows of flat black visors by herself. 

Her first instinct was to look to Obi-Wan or Master Plo for wisdom, but they were gone and the horror of her new position was finally sinking in. As a Jedi, Ahsoka’s life had carried value—even to her enemies—and she had always known she could fall back on her Temple family if she was truly in danger. Now, that security had been ripped away, exposing her in a hostile galaxy where the same immutable traits that once accorded her respect now marked her for termination. 

Reluctantly, she unhooked her remaining lightsaber from her belt and rolled it in her hand. She didn’t usually ascribe value to material things, but her master’s love emanated from his craftsmanship. He had not merely modified her lightsabers; he had remade them into a mirror of his own, from the grip to the blue crystals. Their return had been a promise, a promise she would have a place in the Order if she returned. She was experienced enough to pass the Trials; when she did, Anakin would not have been her master, but her friend and equal. 

But her connection to Anakin had been severed since that brief moment— _“What have I done?”_ —on the bridge just moments before Order 66. Their fates were entwined in the Force; if she couldn’t feel him, he was dead. 

Obi-Wan had told her so many times that her lightsabers were her life, but it was a life she had to leave behind—a life that would endanger her as it had killed Anakin and Obi-Wan himself and so many others. A life she was unworthy of. 

She dropped her lightsaber on the graves of her dead command and did not look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events the occur during the fic are bolded, canon events are not. Time is counted from the moment Order 66 is issued (zero hour) in the format _hours:minutes_. 
> 
> Chronology is based on my best guess.
> 
>   * 00:00 hours: Order 66 issued (~9 PM Coruscant time)
>   * **00:00-1:30: Ahsoka and Rex fight their way off the cruiser**
>   * 0:30-3:30: Anakin’s attack on the Jedi Temple
>   * **1:30-4:30: Ahsoka and Rex collect supplies and remove bodies from the cruiser**
>   * 3:45: Anakin returns from the Temple massacre to reassure Padmé
>   * 3:50: Anakin leaves for Mustafar
>   * **4:30-19:30: Ahsoka and Rex bury the 332nd**
>   * 10:00-12:00: Palpatine transforms the Republic into the Empire
>   * 11:00-12:00: Obi-Wan and Yoda retake the Jedi Temple and reset the emergency beacon
>   * 12:30: Padmé and Obi-Wan talk about Anakin
>   * 14:00: Padmé goes to Mustafar; Obi-Wan stows away on her ship
>   * 11:00-21:00: Anakin kills the Separatist leaders hiding on Mustafar
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> I didn’t want Ahsoka and Rex to spend much time on the moon, especially since they would probably assume Sidious would send someone to investigate. However, I did my research and found out it takes a skilled gravedigger six hours to bury a body. Assuming Ahsoka and Rex are at least as fit as a gravedigger, it would take them 144 hours (6 days!) of nonstop effort to bury the 332nd. Clearly, a hasty funeral and departure were impossible, so I cheated with the Force.


	2. Drifters

**Inner Rim  
19.0 hours after Order 66**

The streaks of white light solidified into stars as the Y-wing emerged from lightspeed in an empty quadrant of space. No stars, planets, or other astronomical features loomed large in the bomber’s viewport; artificial gravity provided the only reference point amidst the darkness. 

“Where are we, Commander?” Rex asked from the gunner’s turret. 

“We’re closest to Mindor, but it’s still light years away.” 

“Why are we all the way out here?” 

Ahsoka unbuckled her restraints and kneeled backward in her seat to look at him. From the cockpit, she could only see the top of his head, but it felt more natural than facing forward. “I thought it would be a safe place to discuss our next move.” 

“What do you think we should do?” Rex asked. 

For good or ill, Ahsoka had always seen the path in front of her. Sidious had ripped away her conviction, setting her and Rex adrift in a galaxy of enemies where the only certainty was uncertainty. But when it came to the wider galaxy, at least, she had a sliver more experience than Rex, who had never been outside the army; it fell to her to find them safe haven. 

“Let’s look at what we know,” she said. “First, Darth Sidious is a powerful Sith lord behind both the Republic and the Separatists.” She ticked off her fingers as she continued. “Second, Sidious turned the clones against the Jedi by using control chips. Third, Sidious’ plan succeeded, and, fourth, most Jedi are dead.” 

“Most?” 

“When I looked into the Force, I saw Jedi dying. I saw the Temple on fire,” she said, keeping her voice low to keep it from breaking. “I know visions aren’t facts, but the Force is telling me that what I saw was real.” 

“There were thousands of Jedi at the Temple,” Rex said, “and clones aren’t trained to fight Force-wielders. There will be survivors.” 

“Even if there are, I don’t think I could find them,” Ahsoka said heavily. “The Force is ... hard to read.” 

“So we’re not going to try?” 

A prickle of shame crawled up her lekku. “Coruscant will be too dangerous.” 

“With respect, Commander, aren’t they your family?” 

The rows of helmets loomed large in her mind’s eye, alongside the overlapping visions of thousands of dying Jedi. Her survival was a hollow achievement if she did not use it to save others. “You’re right.” 

Her hand hovered over the navicomputer, stayed by the memory of the burning Temple. If the Jedi had truly been targeted for annihilation, the Jedi Temple would be on full lockdown. The neighborhood around the Temple itself was orderly, well-lit, and, worst of all, extremely well-patrolled by both the Coruscant Guard and native Coruscant Security Force. The Grand Army would also be closely monitoring travel around the planet and they had at least a standard day’s head start. 

“Let me contact the Jedi Temple,” she told Rex. “The Temple can send out a warning beacon if it comes under attack. It might tell us what we’re walking into.” 

She punched in her old code, fully expecting it to fail. It connected a second later and a tiny holographic human materialized between her hands. 

“Master Obi-Wan!” she blurted, suddenly lightheaded with relief. 

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the recording said, “I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place.” 

Those words popped the bubble of hope expanding in Ahsoka’s throat; she felt the same emotions resonating from Rex as their worst fears were swiftly confirmed. 

“This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi,” Obi-Wan continued. “Trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple; that time has passed and our future is uncertain. We will each be challenged—our trust, our faith, our friendships—but we must persevere, and, in time, a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you, always.” 

With a tiny fizzle, Obi-Wan disappeared, the thrill of his survival fading with him. 

“Obi-Wan must have known Jedi would try returning to the Temple,” Ahsoka said. 

“Are we still going?” Rex asked. 

Part of her wanted to. The inevitable survivors were scattered and alone on a now-hostile world. But even Anakin’s wilder schemes had set aside reserves in case the mission went sideways; there would be no miraculous rescue if Ahsoka and Rex were trapped on Coruscant. Ahsoka no longer knew where pragmatism ended and cowardice began, and hated herself for it. 

“No,” Ahsoka said heavily. The decision felt like turning away from an outstretched hand. “Our best move is to meet up with Obi-Wan. He’ll be gathering survivors.” 

“How are we going to do that?” 

Ahsoka frowned. Obi-Wan’s transmission had notably omitted a rendezvous point. “Trust in the Force, apparently.” 

“The same Force that told you he was dead?” 

Ahsoka reached for Obi-Wan in the Force, only to slam into the same chaos she had felt earlier. If Obi-Wan was alive, though, perhaps other Jedi were, too—like Anakin. She held fast to hope instead of letting her failure dishearten her. “Yes.” 

“Then Naboo might be a good place to start,” Rex said. “The people owe him a debt for saving their planet from the Trade Federation and Senator Amidala will protect him.” 

“Good point,” Ahsoka said, “and Obi-Wan might look for us through mutual friends.” 

She entered the coordinates for Naboo. 

“See, Commander? We figured it out,” Rex said. 

The fuel gauge pulsed red. Ahsoka swore loudly in Dorian, slamming her fist onto the control panel. “You spoke too soon. We don’t have enough fuel to make it.” 

“Regs state starfighters should be almost emptied of fuel during maintenance,” Rex recited. Ahsoka suspected he couldn’t help himself. “Cuts down on accidents.” 

“It’s cutting down on our survival right now.” She scrolled through the star chart. “We’d get to Vandor if we were lucky.” 

“Could we return to Mandalore?” Rex asked. “Lady Kryze might shelter us.” 

Ahsoka frowned. “There will still be two cruisers parked in Mandalorian Space and I don’t think they’ll leave anytime soon.” 

“Why wouldn’t they? Mandalore is neutral.” 

The last thing Ahsoka wanted to think about—or Rex needed to hear—was what a Sith lord would do with an army, but she couldn’t lie to him. “Before the Republic, the Sith ruled the galaxy as a slave empire. Mandalorians like Gar Saxon and his Death Watch cronies used to be Sith enforcers. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sidious recruits them.” 

Rex slumped back in the gunner’s chair until he vanished from sight. His voice came through the comms shaky and cracked. “So ... you’re telling me that my brothers spent three years liberating the galaxy only for a Sith to use us to enslave it? Was _everything_ for nothing?” 

“Not for nothing,” Ahsoka realized with sudden venom. “For Sidious.” 

Rex did not respond. 

“I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Ahsoka said. 

“I appreciate the truth.” 

He sounded bitter, broken. Ahsoka ached for him as she stared out into the untold stars, struggling to see the constellations of fate woven through the cosmos. The Republic, the Jedi Order, and the Grand Army were flawed—Ahsoka had known that better than most—but they shielded the galaxy from tyranny, injustice, and worse. Now that Sidious controlled all three, what good could individuals still do? 

Ahsoka desperately wanted to speak with Senator Amidala. Padmé was everything Ahsoka wanted to be: strong, eloquent, just, and kind. She was a tireless crusader for peace, a diplomatic powerhouse, and she always knew exactly what to do and how to do it. Ahsoka had already tried her comlink during her preflight check on the moon’s surface, without success. She hoped the same order that had killed the Republic’s peacekeepers had not wiped out its defenders as well. For a brief moment, Ahsoka imagined Padmé in front of a clone firing squad and fervently hoped the vision was not prophetic. 

“Assuming Sidious is the Emperor,” Rex said, “he must have been pretty high up in the Republic to immediately take control.” 

“Or he used the clones for a coup,” Ahsoka pointed out. 

“The Kaminoans wouldn’t have altered us unless their employer asked.” 

“But the Jedi ordered the clone army.” 

“Maybe Sidious was a Jedi.” 

“Master Yoda would have sensed him,” Ahsoka said. The idea that Sidious could have been a Jedi serving alongside her, pretending to care about the Order and his men while secretly plotting their total annihilation was sickening. “Maybe Sidious was an arms dealer or maybe one of those Trade Federation toadies who stayed in the Senate.” 

“Respectfully, Commander, General Yoda didn’t sense General Krell’s fall, either. Or Commander Offee’s.” 

Ahsoka winced. “Good point.” 

A pained silence swelled between them as they wrestled with their pasts. Had Barriss savored a second of vindictive pleasure before her guards had shot her in her cell? 

Ahsoka’s mind shied away from the thought as she searched the nearby systems for a safe port, recalling the conflicts that had transformed them into battlegrounds. She had been stationed largely in the Outer Rim, but she had heard many of these names during the endless briefings. 

_Kashyyyk, Togoria, Mimban, Lantillies..._

“Onderon,” Ahsoka said suddenly, sitting up. “We can go to Onderon. The natives have fought the Separatists by themselves, so there isn’t a Republic presence. My friend, Lux, is Onderon’s senator.” 

Rex shifted forward so she could see his face again. “I remember. A good soldier, for a civilian.” 

“Let’s not get our hopes up yet,” Ahsoka said darkly. “We should make sure he’s still alive.” 

After a moment’s recollection, she entered Lux’s comlink frequency. He had reached out after she had left the Order—she didn’t know how he had heard about _that_ —and offered her a place to stay. She had turned him down, but he had not rescinded his invitation. 

“This is Imperial Senator Lux Bonteri’s private line,” Lux snapped. “Who is this?” 

“ _Imperial_ Senator?” Ahsoka asked drily. “That was quick.” 

There was a loud clatter from the other end; Ahsoka suspected he had dropped his comlink. Something rustled and Lux said, “ _Ahsoka_?! How did you—? Wait. Hold on. Alright, I secured the line. By the moons, you’re _alive_. Senator Amidala is going to cry when she hears you’re—” 

“Is Padmé with you?” Ahsoka asked. 

“No. I think she’s still on Coruscant.” 

“Oh. Where are you?” 

“Heading back to Onderon. Do you need somewhere to stay?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ll be home in a standard hour. When do you think you’ll get here?” 

Ahsoka checked the star charts. “About three standard hours. I’ll be bringing a friend—Captain Rex. You probably remember him.” 

“The _clone_?” Lux demanded, appalled. “But ... the clones murdered the Jedi. Why is he—?” 

“We can discuss this in person,” Ahsoka interrupted. “Just trust me.” 

“I always do,” Lux said. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Keep your comlink secure in case I need to contact you,” Ahsoka said. 

“Will do.” 

Ahsoka disconnected with the press of a button and leaned back in her chair with a sigh, clinging to her first promise of safety in hours. She turned around to look at Rex. “Does Onderon still sound good?” 

“Better than I expected, even.” 

“Alright.” Ahsoka entered the coordinates for Onderon and pulled down the lever, sending them into hyperspace. 

The cockpit comm clicked on again. Static sizzled over the line for a full minute before Rex said, “If General Kenobi survived ... do you think Cody removed his chip before Order Sixty-Six?” 

“You and Cody were close,” Ahsoka said softly. She loathed quashing Rex’s hopes, especially as she herself reveled in the certainty of Obi-Wan’s survival. “Wouldn’t he have told you if he knew the truth about the chips?” 

“Yes, but General Kenobi couldn’t have defeated the entire Two-Twelfth by himself.” 

Ahsoka did not need to be a Jedi to feel the quiet desperation in Rex’s voice. She and Rex had lost both their families in a single night, but at least she had something to buoy her spirits. Rex had neither the Force nor cryptic messages from old mentors to keep himself afloat. 

“We might learn something if we patch into the Grand Army Central Command,” Ahsoka suggested. 

“It might alert the Empire to our position.” 

“In hyperspace? I’d like to see them try.” When Rex didn’t respond, she added, “We can try the main channel. It’ll probably be full of boring updates about fleet movements.” 

She felt his dark mood lift incrementally. 

“Fleet movements _could_ be useful,” he allowed. “At least we would know which planets to avoid.” 

Ahsoka used Anakin’s access code to enter the main GAR channel. A hologram of a hooded human popped up on the steering yolk, trembling with the Dark Side. _“Execute Order—”_

Ahsoka immediately disconnected. “Rex, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he said, sounding faintly amused. “You fixed that problem.” 

“Was that Sidious?” 

“A recording of him. The channel is accessed thousands of times an hour. Sidious can’t be giving Order Sixty-Six to all of them individually.” 

Ahsoka tried the main channel again. Sidious appeared, the withered skin around his mouth framing a set of jagged teeth. His image cut out at odd intervals. _“Exe—cute Or—der Sixty-S—ix. Ex—ecute Ord—er Six—ty-Six...”_

Rex was right; it was a loop. She shut it off. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen him before,” Ahsoka said. “He’s certainly not a Jedi.” 

“I don’t recognize him, either,” Rex said, “but now we know Sidious is on Coruscant. Central Command the only place someone could program a message to occupy the whole channel.” 

Ahsoka sensed Rex’s dread intensifying and said, “If Cody avoided the order, he’ll with Obi-Wan. If not, I swear that I’ll help you find him.” 

After a pause, Rex said, “Thank you.” 

“That’s what friends are for.” 

Ahsoka kept their comlink open, but after the silence stretched for too long, she curiously brushed against his mind. He was asleep. She hoped he found solace there. He had always drawn strength from others; she did not know how he would cope with being on his own. She was with him, of course, but she was a poor substitute for millions of clones. 

Even she had had trouble adjusting to life outside the army; she would often dream of a _Venator’s_ engines thrumming under her cot, or hear a clone’s voice calling her name in a crowd, or instinctively look up when she heard a LAAT/i passing overhead. When she spoke to civilians, her sense of humor was too warped, her vocabulary peppered with unintelligible trooper jargon. On worse nights, the bang of a backfiring speeder or the _click-hiss_ of droid servos would sent a bolt of adrenaline straight into her heart. Years of living under rigid army discipline had made its absence that much more jarring; sometimes, Ahsoka had spent listless days waiting for orders that never came. She had never forgiven herself for leaving the 501st without saying goodbye; potentially seeing them had been one of the reasons she had convinced Bo-Katan to meet with Anakin and Obi-Wan personally. 

Ahsoka had anticipated some well-deserved frostiness from her former command, but entering that hangar and seeing and _feeling_ Rex and Anakin and the 501st incandescent with joy had almost brought tears to her eyes. She had slotted seamlessly back into her former role, too relieved to be among family again to even pretend to be a military advisor. The 332nd, for their part, accepted her unconditionally. They spent the Siege of Mandalore showering her with war stories, catching her up on the slang, and not-so-subtly asking if she would rejoin the Jedi Order. Ahsoka would deflect with a laugh and Rex would scold his particularly overt brothers for asking, and afterward they would exchange an exasperated look, their old friendship augmented by newfound contentment. Much like her relationship with Anakin, Ahsoka sensed, a few months apart and lack of a formal title had put her and Rex on more equal footing. 

That was why she had removed Rex’s chip. She had needed allies, of course—her ill-fated loosing of Maul had been the worst expression of that—but even if she had gotten to choose just one person to save, it would always have been Rex. Never mind that he was a crosstrained ARC, a commander, or a lethal shot; he was her friend and he had needed her help. 

Just a day ago, they had been on the verge of discovering what the war’s end meant for a soldier bred to serve and a Jedi bound to the cause. Now, Rex was the only clones still in possession of free will and she was one of the last surviving Jedi. A galaxy of possibilities had been denied to them both. 

Ahsoka smothered her anger as she awkwardly folded her legs in the cramped seat and closed her eyes. She was not the _last_ surviving Jedi. Obi-Wan was alive, as was Padmé; Anakin would surely be with one of them. Padmé was more likely, since Anakin had been on Coruscant when Order 66 went out and Padmé was still there, but Ahsoka could not stand the vagaries of rumor or hearsay. She needed to _know_. 

Like her master, she excelled at using the Force and struggled with listening to it, but right now, that was the skill she needed if she wanted to find Anakin. She inhaled deeply, exhaled all of her emotions, and emptied her mind. 

Ahsoka had always envisioned the cosmic Force as a calm, luminous lake, as eternally wide as it was deep. Trillions of presences—her, Anakin, Obi-wan, Master Plo, Rex, everything that lived or had ever lived—meshed together in perfect harmony, creating the wellspring of the Force. It had always been a place of peace and focus—but no longer. Waves churned across its normally placid surface, the wind howling with the dying cries of Jedi. Ahsoka rallied, but her own doubts and emotions plagued her, shredding her focus. 

Obi-Wan had told her to trust in the Force, but how could she do that if the same Force wouldn’t even tell her if her own Master was alive? 

Her fingers tightened around her armrests as her panicked frustration gave way to anger. Where was the line between righteous fury and hatred? As a Jedi, it was her duty to fight evil, but that was too small a word to describe what Sidious had done. He had not only destroyed the Jedi Order, but poisoned the wellspring of the Force itself, denying her the mere confirmation of her master’s survival. Rage burned in her throat like a rising starbird and she seized it as it passed, plunging through the storm-tossed waves and sinking into the fabric of the galaxy itself. 

The effect was instantaneous. The chaos vanished, leaving her with the steady hum of power. Ahsoka summoned every memory she had of her master—his determination, his confidence, his attachments, his radiant and all-consuming presence in the Force—and forged it into a focus, refracting it all onto a single presence: _Anakin Skywalker_. 

Something dark stirred in the unfathomable depths to answer her call, circling closer and closer as she opened up with her full strength, magnifying her voice to reach across star systems. The creature’s yellow eyes rolled madly in its sockets, its hot gaze sweeping over her as it hunted. Ahsoka maintained concentration, unwilling to break off her search even as the Dark Side twined through the Force around her. 

Its gaze suddenly locked onto her and it surged forward, its unseen jaws opening wide to reveal a mouthful of jagged teeth. Horrified, Ahsoka kicked for the surface, pulling herself back into the Y-wing just in time—but not before the smallest presence shot from the depths, injecting a mess of vivid sensations into her mind. 

A flash of flame. The taste of ash. Loud, rasping breaths, laboriously drawn through a faulty respirator. 

Then, nothing. 

And Ahsoka knew Anakin Skywalker was dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline**
> 
>   * 21:00-21:30: Battle of the Fates; Anakin is defeated and Obi-Wan leaves him to die on the lava plateau
>   * 22:00: Obi-Wan leaves Mustafar with Padmé
> 



	3. Empire Day

**Onderon  
22.5 hours after Order 66**

Commander Tano landed the Y-wing in the ruins about five klicks outside Onderon’s capital city. Rex scoured the rundown buildings for signs of habitation, but it seemed the location had been abandoned for some time. The victorious resistance must have moved into the cities after their movement had garnered wider support. 

Onderon had been a wise choice, and not only because of Senator Bonteri. Onderon did not host a Republic— _Imperial,_ Rex reminded himself—garrison, but if the Empire did arrive, Commander Tano’s familiarity with Iziz and the surrounding jungle would give them several escape routes. Rex wished he had thought of going to Onderon first, if only to take the burden off Commander Tano’s shoulders. 

It seemed she had not slept in hyperspace; her eyes were bloodshot and movements mechanical as she helped him pull down foliage to conceal the bomber. Commander Tano usually passed routine work with banter, but this time, she was worryingly silent. Rex hoped Order 66 had not broken her as completely as it had him. He couldn’t think about it without wanting to scream, cry, shoot something, or all three at once—but this was neither the time nor the place. He needed to escort Commander Tano to safety before he allowed his emotions to debilitate him. That was how it had always been during the war. 

Their task completed, Commander Tano turned to regard him with a frown. “Now how are we going to sneak you into Iziz?” 

Rex self-consciously glanced down at his muddy, soot-streaked armor. He didn’t have anything else. “I could wear my blacks.” 

“That might be safest.” She doffed her cloak and offered it to him. “Take this, too.” 

“Won’t a Togruta dressed like a Mandalorian stand out?” He genuinely had no idea; his knowledge of fashion was based off cosmopolitan sentients he had seen on Coruscant. 

“Less than you will,” she said. “Your bodysuit has the rondel on it, and the resistance will know what a clone looks like.” 

Rex removed his armor, stacking the plates inside the Y-wing. The missing forty kilos made him feel uncomfortably light on his feet. He kept his boots—rubbing them with dirt to disguise the shine—put on the cloak, and clipped on his kama, moving his holsters beneath it. He practiced quick-drawing his DC-17s from their new position, then realized Commander Tano was unarmed. 

He handed her one of his blasters. “Ever used one of these, Commander?” 

“No.” She flipped the safety off, her finger already on the trigger. “How hard can it be?” 

She swept the loaded blaster over Rex’s chest—he ducked—and aimed at a head-sized rock perched atop one of the crumbling walls. Her first shot went wide. 

“You might want to start with two hands on the blaster,” Rex suggested. “It took me a few weeks to—” 

Commander Tano shot again, hitting the rock dead center. She turned back to him, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “You were saying?” 

“I shouldn’t have underestimated a Jedi.” Rex instinctively twisted aside as she brought the blaster down again. “Whoa! Watch where you point that thing.” 

“Relax. I’m not going to shoot you.” 

“Not on purpose,” Rex said. “Keep your finger on the guard unless you plan on shooting.” 

She altered her grip. “Like this?” 

“Right. Turn the safety back on.” After she had done that, he walked over and took the muzzle of the gun. “Weak points of trooper armor are here, here, here, and here.” He moved her blaster to points on his stomach, chest, neck, and head as he spoke. “You have a hundred bolts in a clip. If you press _that_ , you can detach the clip to swap it out for a new one. The blaster’s military issue, so it won’t overheat from rapid fire, but the clips can stick in the magazine if it’s dirty.” 

Commander Tano examined at the blaster dubiously. “This is a lot more complicated than a lightsaber.” 

“You’ll get the hang of it in no time.” 

“If you say so.” She attempted to twirl the blaster by the trigger guard, but she had not started with enough spin; after two half-hearted loops, it hung heavily on her finger. 

Rex flawlessly executed the same move with his remaining blaster. “ _That_ you’ll need to practice.” 

She tried again, but when the pistol stalled, she nudged it with the Force for a few more rotations before tucking it into her belt. 

They grinned at each other. Then, Commander Tano’s features clouded over again and she turned back to the ship. “We should hurry. Lux is waiting for us.” 

Commander Tano filled their pack with binocs, valuable scrap, bacta spray, credits, and a week’s worth of ration cubes. The scrap took up the most space, but they could not leave it behind; those bits of metal were the only way they could afford fuel in an emergency. 

By the time they set out, it was midday, local time, and the sun blazed high overhead. Rex had not missed Onderon at all; although the trees sheltered him from the worst of the sun, the air was thick with humidity and the cloying stink of rotting vegetation. Swarms of biting insects targeted his exposed head with laser precision and his kama snagged on the waist-high brush, impeding him at every turn. 

Just ahead of him, Commander Tano seemed to have an easier time. Whether through the Force or natural athleticism, she slithered through the vegetation like water, setting a grueling pace despite the thirty-kilo pack on her back. General Skywalker had once told Rex that Jedi could draw on the Force for stamina, but Rex didn’t see how that could replace the eight hours of sleep and solid meal Commander Tano sorely needed. 

Rex worried about her. They had both lost everyone, but his brothers—most of them, at least—were still alive. They could be saved. There was no technology or Force trick in the galaxy that could return her family to life. He watched her back, unbowed, shoulders tight as she pushed her way forward. It seemed she, too, was staving off the inevitable. 

They emerged from the steaming jungle on a ridge about a klick from Iziz’s reddish perimeter wall. Rex took the binocs from Commander Tano’s pack and raised them to his face for a closer look. The open gates were admitting a trickle of farmers, merchants, and hunters. Two guards stood at ground level, scanning each being and their belongings. The Separatists had used a similar tactic to deter the resistance, but this time, the guards were humanoids and they were stopping farmers with droids. 

An orange hand suddenly obscured his view. Rex obediently passed the binocs. 

“No holocams on the walls,” she muttered. “Guards look bored.” She crammed the binocs back into her pack. “I think we can just go in through the front.” 

They followed the jungle’s edge a few klicks away from Iziz. After the road curved out of sight of Iziz’s gates, they trudged down to the main road, blending with the farmers and carts heading to the capital. Rex had not showered or shaved in over a standard day; after walking through the jungle, he thought he was grimy and smelly enough to pass as a native. 

“You walk like a soldier,” Commander Tano muttered. She was hunched over, her feet dragging and her eyes dull. “Put your head down. Stop looking at everything.” 

He tried to emulate her. She snorted—just for a moment, but he was glad to hear it. 

“You’re bad at this,” she said. 

Rex scowled. “You couldn’t pretend to be a slave for two standard hours.” 

“Do you remember the stupid getup Anakin put me in? It pinched like the blazes,” Commander Tano complained. “ _You_ were so bad at disguise that Master Obi-Wan made you wear that face-covering helmet.” 

“I passed as a guard longer than you passed as a slave.” 

“I wonder why...” 

“Ah, well, we both ended up slaves.” Kadavo’s spice mines regularly featured in Rex’s nightmares, although he often toiled alongside his brothers or Jedi instead of the Togruta colonists—and Pong Krell held the electrowhip. “Nothing went according to plan.” 

“Since when did we expect that from any of Anakin’s ideas?” 

“Now you sound like General Kenobi.” 

“I’d say it went pretty well, in the end,” she said. “We rescued the colonists and shut down the Zygerrian spice pit—and you spitted the overseer like a nerf haunch.” 

Rex shrugged modestly. “I did my job. Everyone went home after that.” 

The spark faded from her eyes. “Yes, we did.” 

Rex wanted to tell her—to tell himself, too—that everything would be fine, that there was something wrong with the Force, that only the 332nd had turned against the Jedi, that there was no Empire, that this was all a horrible dream. He would have traded anything to wake up in his barracks on Coruscant surrounded by his brothers, having already delivered Maul to the Jedi and watched Commander Tano rejoin the Order. The two of them would meet General Skywalker and wait for General Kenobi and Cody to return with Grievous’ smoking corpse and an unconditional Separatist surrender...

Rex’s fantasy petered out after that. No one knew what the Republic would do with millions of professional soldiers during peacetime. Alpha had once suggested they would be placed in cryogenic stasis until the next war; Fox had proposed the creation of a permanent police state. Cody, Bly, and Wolffe had been more optimistic, believing the Jedi would prevent the Senate from doing anything too idiotic, but who would stand up for the clones after they had massacred the few beings who supported clone autonomy? 

The queue moved swiftly and soon the two guards—a male human and female Rodian—beckoned them up to the gate. 

“What’s your business in Iziz today?” the human asked Rex. 

Rex startled at the address; civilians did not usually speak to him when a Jedi was present. Not that these guards would _know_ Commander Tano was a Jedi, but it still caught him off-guard. 

Commander Tano stepped forward. “We’re visiting friends in the capital.” 

As she spoke, the Rodian paced behind them, waving her probe over Commander Tano’s pack. Rex kept the Rodian in his peripherals, folding his arms to prevent himself from reaching for his blaster. 

The Rodian finished her sweep and came to stand beside her partner. “They’re all set.” 

“You heard him,” the human said. “Go on.” 

Both guards wore oddly glassy expressions; Rex looked down in time to see Commander Tano lower her hand. 

“Did you mind trick them?” Rex asked as they passed under the gatehouse. 

“Just to be sure,” Commander Tano said. “I’m not very good at this. It might wear off in a few hours.” 

A sudden thought occurred to him. “Could you mind trick a clone to make them forget about the order?” 

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It didn’t work on you, did it? On Teth?” 

“That was because _Ventress_ tried. She’s nothing like you.” 

“When it comes to mind tricks, at least, we’re pretty similar,” Commander Tano said wryly. “It requires a delicate touch to alter someone’s mind. The guards at the gate were already bored; they didn’t need much convincing to forget two unremarkable beings when thousands come through the gate every day. Forcing someone to act against their will is harder.” She sighed. “I don’t think overriding the control chip would be easy, but I’ll try.” 

“Thank you, Commander.” He knew she would. His trust in her was absolute. 

The bazaar was largely unchanged from Rex’s memories: a jumble of buildings, beings, and beasts, beset with obscured sight lines and very little ground-level cover. The square was large enough to march a battalion down the middle, but it was crowded with rickety wood stalls selling food and textiles. Faded awnings jutted out from the pale stone buildings, offering a meter-wide strip of shade for pedestrians and a line of pipe-smoking elders. The merchants reclined beneath patterned screens, hawking their wares in verse or beating away hungry fampas. Droids with baskets welded to their bodies haggled over prices in tinny voices. Some piloted repulsorcarts through the crowd, trailing the scents of fried meat and oil behind them. 

Commander Tano struck a decisive path towards the north corner of the square. Rex stuck close, fighting a swell of disorientation as strangers buffeted him on all sides. Many Onderonian humans had black hair and dark skin, but none of them _looked_ like him. None of them _were_ him. Even if clones had served under different generals on different campaigns, they were all brothers and all soldiers, and those shared experiences welded them even closer than mere genetics. 

Rex had heard amputees could still feel pain when anything passed through where their limbs had been. In the same way, he acknowledged the entire GAR had been lost to him, but he had been losing men—Kix, Hardcase, Attie, Fives, Coric, Jesse, Axe, and so many more—for the last three years. He just couldn’t comprehend that this time, _he_ had died and his brothers were the ones marching without him. 

He wondered what the 501st survivors would think when they learned his ship had been lost with all hands. As far as the Empire knew, Rex had died a hero by taking Commander Tano with him. Would his brothers see it that way? What about Cody, whose general had also survived the purge? 

Rex spied sudden movement on his right. A small figure drew a blaster from its vest, pointing it directly at Commander Tano. Rex jumped in front of her without thinking, pushing her back as he reached for his DC-17. 

She laid a hand on his arm. “Easy. These aren’t hostiles.” 

The Onderonian girl didn’t even notice him as she aimed her toy at another group of children from the opposite side of the street. 

Rex forced himself to relax, trying to ignore his thundering heart and the new sheen of sweat on his face. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Commander Tano said. “You don’t have the Force to check.” She stopped to watch the fake firefight breaking out in the middle of the market, smiling sadly. “At first, I had the same reaction.” 

A Weequay girl jumped between the tussling children, brandishing a stick. “I’m a Jedi Knight and I’m using my Force powers!” She pointed her palm at one band of kids and they obediently dropped to the ground. 

“Roger, roger, we surrender,” one of the fallen said. 

“Get them, clones!” the Weequay Jedi shouted, and the second group of children rushed over to subdue the enemy. 

Rex watched the “clones” shoot the still-moving “droids”, remembering when he and his brothers had played similar games on Kamino. 

“You’re supposed to stay dead,” one of the “clones” told a small Nikto “droid”. 

“This is boring,” the Nikto complained. “All we do is fall over. I want to be the Jedi next time.” 

The Weequay girl brought her lightsaber down on the Nikto’s midsection. “Bzzt! I cut him half. Now he’s dead for sure.” 

“She should really go for the chest,” Commander Tano remarked. “I’ve seen battle droids keep firing if they’re bisected at the...” She trailed off and swiftly glanced around, her hand over her blaster. 

Rex readied his own immediately. “What is it?” 

“Not sure yet.” Her comlink chirped. “It’s Lux.” She pressed the button. 

“Are you in Iziz?” Lux demanded immediately. 

“I’m near the bazaar.”

“Hurry! I’ve got a bunker under my house.” 

“What are you talking about?”

A shadow fell over the market and Rex looked up, directly at the underbelly of a Republic light cruiser. The thrum of its in-atmo engines was lost as the alarmed crowd began to shout, pointing up at the hovering ship. LAAT/is—tiny at this distance—deployed from the _Acclamator’s_ hangar, speeding towards Iziz. 

Commander Tano broke into a run, Rex immediately behind as they shoved past the civilians, shouldering them aside as they made for the bazaar’s edge. Most were too busy gawking at the approaching ship to notice them. No one was fleeing, either; they must have though the Republic—Empire—was there to help. 

Rex checked over his shoulder. From this angle, he saw a larger _Venator_ -class cruiser orbiting about ten klicks above the light cruiser’s bow, surrounded by a cloud of starfighters. Neither cruiser was firing—softening the target, Rex used to say—but the LAAT/is had drawn level with the city. One gunship made a low pass overhead, a dozen plastoid-clad legs dangling from the open blast doors. Like the others, it rose over the blue-tiled roofs and towards the palace, its repulsors sweeping a cloud of red dust in its wake. 

Rex did not remember Iziz’s streets well, but Commander Tano seemed to know where they were going. They skirted the palace dominating the city center—where Republic banners fluttered beside King Dendup’s coat of arms—and sprinted another klick to a nearby neighborhood with wide, swept streets and brick houses. Panting, she stopped in front of a house with yellow flowers painted around a reinforced door. The door whooshed open, revealing a stricken, dark-haired young man—Senator Bonteri. 

“Get in!” he urged, beckoning them onward. 

“A little more of a heads-up would have been nice!” Commander Tano snapped at Bonteri. 

“I told you as soon as I found out!” he retorted. “Senators aren’t exactly advised on troop movements.” 

Rex closed the door behind them, somewhat reassured as several locks audibly bolted into the thick durasteel frame. He estimated the door would take a few solid hits—a clip from a standard Deece, maybe ten or twelve from an E-Web—and turned to assess the rest of the room. Two windows gave enemy snipers an excellent view of the foyer and the furniture was too flimsy to use as a shield. 

“We need a more defensible position,” Rex informed them, cutting over their argument. 

“Follow me,” Bonteri said. 

He led them into another cluttered room deep within the house. Bonteri kicked back the carpet and pulled a heavy metal ring concealed in the floor to reveal a ladder descending about ten meters into the ground. Rex followed Bonteri, with Commander Tano going last to close the hatch and pull the rug back into position with the Force. 

The ladder terminated at a durasteel door wedged into the bedrock. The air was cool; Rex shivered as his sweat chilled on his body. Bonteri entered the key code—Rex memorized it from over Bonteri’s shoulder—and the door swung open, revealing a spacious bunker. There were a few chairs, several bunks against the far wall, and a holotransmitter. A few trunks set beside the dejarik table looked promising. 

“Cistern,” Bonteri said, gesturing to a barrel in one corner. He waved behind him. “’freshers and a year of consumables for ten people are back there. The bunker has its own water and air cycler, good for five years. This whole unit is contained, so it’s bombproof, airtight, and impervious to biologicals. The whole thing can be ray-shielded.” 

“Weapons?” Rex asked. 

“Blasters,” Bonteri said, flipping open one trunk. “The crate’s full of ammo. No explosives. A clone once told me it wasn’t a smart idea in enclosed spaces.” 

“I don’t sense anyone coming,” Commander Tano said. She opened her eyes. “There isn’t even anyone in the house.” 

Bonteri rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I live alone. Anyway, I don’t think the Empire is here to destroy us. To invade, yes,” he added, forestalling Rex’s question, “but they won’t bomb Iziz into orbit if they don’t need to.” 

“So you _were_ expecting the Empire to show up,” Commander Tano said, her eyes narrowed. 

“Not as quickly as they did,” Bonteri said. “I swear to you, Ahsoka, I didn’t anticipate this at all.” 

He seemed sincere, but Rex waited for Commander Tano to say, “I know.” 

“Are there any exits?” Rex asked. 

“There’s one in the storeroom that leads out onto the streets,” Bonteri said, “but I don’t think you need to leave yet. You’re safe here—at least for a few days.” He turned to Commander Tano. “You look like you need it.” 

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, propping a muddy hand on her equally filthy hip. The harsh light from the illuminator bars shadowed her eyes and cheeks, giving her a haggard appearance. “Alright, what the _kriff_ is going on?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” Bonteri said. “Dooku, Grievous, and three-quarters of the Separatist fleet were destroyed inside a week. The whole Republic was expecting a surrender, but instead the Supreme Chancellor’s office contacts me in the middle of the Coruscanti night to tell me the Jedi were traitors and the clones had killed them all!” He pointed to Rex. “So why is _he_ here?” 

Rex sensed Commander Tano’s anger at such a blunt question and quickly said, “A Sith named Darth Sidious embedded an organic chip into every clone’s brain. When he speaks the trigger words, we’re forced to kill Jedi. I tried my best to kill Commander Tano, but she removed my chip and saved my life.” 

“Wait, you fought a _Sith_?” Bonteri asked Commander Tano. “So you were at the Temple?” 

“Mandalore,” she corrected. “We were returning to Coruscant when Sidious gave my men the command by holo.” 

Bonteri turned back at Rex, confused. “But the clones who ... who burned the Temple and killed the Jedi—their armor was—” 

_Red. Typical Fox, treacherous to the—_

A nauseating jolt of laser-focused clarity pierced Rex in the gut, shrinking the galaxy into the scant meter between himself and Bonteri. Rex suddenly knew _damn_ well that there had been only one operational battalion stationed on Coruscant at the time of Order 66. 

“—blue,” Bonteri finished. “Isn’t that your command?” 

The world dissolved into a blur of sound and color as Rex fell to his knees, bile rising in his throat. He had known the entire army had turned, but the abhorrent knowledge that _his_ 501st, _his_ men had been the ones to slaughter the defenseless Padawans hiding in the Temple was more than he could stomach. 

Commander Tano knelt beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes shone with tears. 

“How could they...?” Rex asked. He was too horrified to say the words. “They were just _kids_.” 

“They were Jedi,” she replied, her voice brittle with fury. 

“I need to get back to work,” Bonteri said, “but you should watch the HoloNet. It’ll be faster than my explanations and ... well, you’ll be able to see for yourselves.” 

Distantly, Rex felt Commander Tano help him to his feet. He sat beside her in a daze as the lights dimmed and the HoloNews came on. 

The Jedi Temple was aflame. Dead 501st and Jedi were strewn across the Temple steps. Coruscant Guard and 501st troops had erected checkpoints across Coruscant to catch the survivors. The bodies of four Jedi Masters—General Windu among them, his arm gone and his skull crushed almost beyond recognition; General Fisto, hacked in half—hung from the Senate doors as proof of their treachery. 

_The Jedi are traitors,_ the anchor intoned. _All Jedi are to be reported to Imperial Command._

The Separatists were gone. All battle droids had been deactivated. Grievous had been killed on Utapau, the Separatist leadership had been slaughtered on Mustafar. The Senate of Independent Systems had presented an unconditional surrender. 

The Republic was gone, too. The eight-armed rondel the clones had fought and died under had been replaced with some six-armed monstrosity. There was no coup, no faction of surviving Jedi denouncing Sidious. Some planets had rebelled against Imperial rule; on Mandalore, dozens—some Rex recognized as allies—had been executed as agitators. 

Everything was the Empire. Everything Rex had fought for was gone. 

And the Emperor... 

The HoloNews showed a clip of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s—now Emperor Palpatine’s—first speech to the new Imperial Senate. The Chancellor was hideous, his waxy skin warped and melted, his eyes glowing malevolently beneath his hood. 

In another sickening wave of clarity, Fives’ dying words floated to the front of Rex’s mind in perfect detail. 

_“The Chancellor was trying to kill me... He’s in on it. I don’t know the whole extent, but I know he orchestrated much of this. He told me in the medical bay!”_

Fives, who had learned about the chips a year before anyone. Fives, who had died trying to reveal the truth. Fives, who everyone—including Rex—had dismissed. Fives, who had been right about _everything_ else. Of _course_ he had been right about the Chancellor. 

Rex turned to Ahsoka and saw his own despair and helplessness reflected on her face. Tears welled in his eyes as she pulled him close, a desolate sob tearing from her throat. Her body shook as she wept, her hands twisting his cloak. Rex tried to stay strong for her, to reassure her, to say _anything_ , but the words wouldn’t come, and the tears did. He dropped his head onto her shoulder, his breath hitching as his shields dissolved and grief suffocated him like it was suffocating her, and all they could do was hold each other as they shared the awful sorrow of survival. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline**
> 
>   * 23:00: Darth Sidious arrives on Mustafar to rescue Darth Vader
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> For the record, everyone in the _Clone Wars_ has _awful_ trigger discipline.


	4. Light and Law

**Iziz, Onderon  
24.0 hours after Order 66**

Ahsoka clung to Rex and him to her, anchoring each other amidst their grief. There were moments when Ahsoka thought she was finished, that she was hollow, that there were no more tears left in her, but she would think of Anakin or Master Plo or she would _feel_ Rex’s loss like a gaping wound and she would fall apart all over again, letting her spirit buckle beneath the weight of their grief. 

In her mind’s eye, Ahsoka saw the Jedi Temple as she remembered it: half training facility, half work of art, but entirely home. She remembered the laughter of younglings as they chased each other with their first practice sabers; the endless trickle of water in the Room of a Thousand Fountains; the warmth of the sun as she sat in the courtyard; the hallways where Padawans, Knights, and Masters mingled; the meditation chambers imbued with the focus of generations of Jedi before them; the cool glow of the holobooks stretching as far as the eye could see; the fellowship all servants of the Force held with each other. 

But also, she remembered the austere corridors of a Jedi cruiser, crammed from stem to stern with clones—her men, her brothers, who had taught her everything about leadership, responsibility, and loyalty. She remembered leaning against hard plastoid shoulders as a LAAT/i’s engines lulled her to sleep, scrubbing flecks of blue paint off the hangar deck after her men touched up their armor, laughing with them in the mess, trading quips as they ganged up on Anakin. She remembered their amused irritation when she beat them while sparring and the rare crows of victory when they won. She remembered defending them with her life because she knew they would do the same for her. That camaraderie had also vanished, severed by death and an unspeakable Sith plot. 

In stops and starts, their broken sobs began to even out as they fought their way back to normalcy. Rex tried to pull away, but Ahsoka felt a fresh wave of grief about to ambush him and held him tight as fresh tears soaked into her tunic. She heard Rex deliberately matching his breathing to hers, their ragged exhalations the only sound in the empty bunker. 

“I can’t believe it’s all _gone_ ,” Rex said, his voice trembling and raw, barely audible above the harsh squawk of Imperial propaganda still spewing from the HoloNet. Blue light from the broadcast played across his features, the corner of his dark eyes reflecting the horror in minute, distorted detail. “Everything, it’s...” 

Ahsoka’s throat closed again, too tight to speak. She turned off the HoloNews with the Force, plunging the bunker into darkness pierced only by the silver glow from the water filtration unit. Then, she clasped his hands, drawing them into the scant space between them. 

“Not everything,” she said. 

Rex glanced down at their twined hands, then up at her, exhausted and vulnerable. Slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. 

Ever since Order 66 had gone out, Ahsoka had been tumbling through the stars, reaching for answers she could never grasp and safety she could not find. The impact—soft as it was—felt like hitting the bottom. It was time for her to stand up again. 

Ahsoka swallowed the bitter dregs of grief and pulled away from him a few minutes later, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “We should find Lux. He might be able to give us better news than the HoloNet.” 

“Is it safe the leave the bunker?” Rex asked. 

She cast her awareness high above her. After a moment, she said, “Lux is alone and I don’t sense anyone watching the house from outside. It’s safe enough.” 

“I’ll ... give you a few minutes to catch up.” 

Ahsoka almost pointed out they had nothing to discuss about that wouldn’t involve Rex, but then she read the utter misery etched onto his face. Those few minutes weren’t for her. “Do you want me to...?” 

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the door. “I’m fine.” 

Some things you had to face alone. Ahsoka knew that well enough. 

She left Rex to his ghosts and went in search of Lux. There had been neither a chrono nor windows inside the bunker; Ahsoka was surprised when she opened the trap door and was immediately blinded by a golden column of sunlight pouring in through a nearby window. She shielded her eyes as she eased the hatch closed behind her. They must have been down there for several hours at least. 

Curious, Ahsoka walked to the window and looked down at the streets. They were relatively empty; a speeder zoomed by and a few people hurried past, their heads bowed. Ahsoka could taste anxiety building in the air, like the silent hum before a storm. In the buildings around her, beings paced restlessly in their homes, talking, fighting, planning. It was too early for hope. 

Lux’s house was not palatial, but it was large enough to turn finding him into an ordeal. She walked through a full-sized conference room, a large kitchen bustling with droids, a holoroom, rooms merely filled with furniture and art, and several ’freshers with wampa-sized baths. She was momentarily distracted by a mural depicting Onderon’s history from settlement to present. Ahsoka scowled when the penultimate panel showed lines of battle droids, but the final scene was a flock of rupings soaring above Separatist gunships. An orange figure stood to one side, her lightsabers picked out in brilliant green paint. 

Finally, she located Lux’s study and opened the door. Lux jumped to his feet, triggering a landslide of datapads and wadded-up balls of flimsi as he drew a blaster from under his desk. 

Unperturbed, Ahsoka caught the falling items with the Force and waved her hand to neatly stack them back into place. “Your house is very beautiful.” 

“It was my mother’s,” Lux said. “It’s bigger than I would have chosen, but living here helps keep her memory alive—and house-shopping hasn’t been high on my priority list.” He put his blaster away. “Sorry about that.” 

“I’ve faced live fire since I was fourteen,” she said. “The novelty’s worn off.” 

Lux walked around his desk and shoved a stack of folders off a leather seat. He drew the chair out for her. “Here. Please sit.” 

“Thank you.” She sat down and assessed his office. Half the room was meticulously organized, covered in a plush Harswee carpeting and adorned with moving, full color holograms of Onderon’s waterfalls. The order ended at Lux’s expensive kriin-wood desk. The desktop was strewn with a dozen datapads, sheets of scribbled-on flimsi, holodiscs, and stained cups containing dregs of cold caf. The room smelled stuffy and sour, as if Lux had not left for hours. 

“Apologies for the mess,” Lux said. “I was called to Coruscant on short notice and I’ve barely slept since then. We’re safe to talk, by the way. The room is soundproofed and I swept for bugs. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” 

“Are all the former Republic and Separatist systems under Imperial control?” Ahsoka asked. 

“Most Republic systems have pledged formal allegiance to the Empire,” he said. “Some of the formerly Separatist planets are holding out, but without battle droids, they won’t last long. The Council of Neutral Systems sent an emissary to Coruscant to complain, but after the Empire used Mandalore as an example, most have joined the Empire.” 

“Do you know if Lady Bo-Katan was captured?” Ahsoka asked. 

“She’s on the run, as far as we know.” 

“ _We_?” 

“Myself, Senator Organa, Senator Mothma, Senator Chuchi, Senator Amidala, and a few others,” Lux said. “We began meeting a few months ago because we wanted Chancellor Palpatine to resign when the war was over, but now ... well, I don’t know what we are, but we stand with the Jedi.” 

Ahsoka forced herself to exhale some of the tension out of her shoulders. She was no longer alone. 

“I suspect some of the Jedi escaped,” Ahsoka said. “I know Obi-Wan survived and made his way to Coruscant. Have—?” 

“What about your master, Anakin?” 

“He’s dead,” Ahsoka said, forcing the words out as quickly as she could. She could sense Lux forming a response and added, “I don’t want to discuss it.” 

Lux help his hands up in appeasement. “Sorry.” 

“I thought Obi-Wan might join Padmé on Naboo.” 

“The last I heard, Senator Amidala was still on Coruscant.” He leaned back to check the bank of crystal-plated chronos set into one wall. The largest and centermost displayed Iziz’s local time, but the others gave the times on Coruscant, Corellia, Mygeeto, Alderaan, and a few other systems. “That was ... half a standard day ago? About four hours before you made contact, I think; I’m really warp-lagged. No one’s been able to reach her since.” 

Fear—never far these days—crept back into Ahsoka’s mind. “Is that unusual?” 

“Not really, but we’re keeping in touch in case the Emperor tries to silence us.” 

“Is that—are you—?” 

“I’m least worried about Senator Amidala,” Lux said soothingly. “She has been a great friend and mentor to me since I joined the Senate. She’s formidable.” 

Ahsoka snorted. “She’s unstoppable.” 

“That’s a better word,” Lux said. “The last time we spoke was just after the Emperor’s speech. I could barely _speak_ , I was so frightened. Senator Amidala was—well, she was very grave, but her resolve, Ahsoka! I would follow her anywhere.” 

Ahsoka had seen it herself many times before—and the same expression on Anakin’s face as well. Neither of them believed in half-measures. Perhaps that was why they had fallen in love. 

“Anyway,” Lux continued, “she told me to go home and advise King Dendup to surrender.”

“But Onderon has a militia,” Ahsoka blurted, shooting to her feet. “You fought off the Separatists! What is Padmé—?” 

“We fought the Separatists with Jedi help and Republic money,” Lux pointed out. “If Onderon opposed the Empire now, we would stand alone. Padmé is right. We need time.” 

“The Emperor will grow stronger by the day,” she argued, the embers of her old determination flaring back to life. “Somewhere out there, there are Jedi survivors hiding in fear of their lives. Dozens of systems could be glassed into submission for the simple—” 

“ _I know_ ,” Lux interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. “We all know, but we’re just senators—a group of idealists with no blasters to back it up, as Saw says. We don’t have the money, ships, or organization for a galaxy-wide rebellion.” She opened her mouth to object and he added, “Maybe we will, but it’s only been—” He checked the chrono again “—about eight standard hours since Palpatine dissolved the Republic. We need to be patient.” 

“Says the man who hired Death Watch to avenge his mother’s death.” 

“You rescued me from my mistake. I don’t want to do the same for you.” 

Ahsoka checked her temper and settled back into her chair. “...I’m sorry. I see your point.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said. “I can’t imagine... When I heard about the supposed Jedi coup, I tried your comlink. Senator Amidala tried, too. We thought you were dead. It was—we were—” He cut himself off. “Well, whatever I’m feeling, it must be nothing compared to what you’re going through.” 

“That doesn’t mean your feelings are less valid,” she reminded him. “I appreciate your sympathy.” 

“You returned to the Order, didn’t you?” Lux asked. “That’s why the clones...?” 

She looked into his eyes and saw only pity. Somehow, it hurt. “No, I didn’t. Officially, I was Rex’s military advisor at the time.” 

“Advisor?” Lux asked. “Like what you did on Onderon?” 

“Something like that.” Ahsoka picked at a thread in her tunic as she mulled over her next words. “I think the Order wanted me back.” 

“They must have realized their mistake,” Lux said hotly. “I couldn’t believe when I heard you had been kicked out.” 

“I chose to leave,” she reminded him. “I needed space to think, so, after I walked away, that’s all I did. The things you told me when we first met on Raxus were true. The Jedi weren’t peacekeepers, but I realized we had not strayed so far from the Light that we couldn’t find our way back. If I’m being truthful, on Mandalore, when I heard the war would soon be over, I wanted to return. I thought I could change things, but then...” 

That one sentence was a painful summary of the last few days. 

“I used to feel the same way about the Separatists,” Lux said. “Their cause was just, but then Dooku became our dictator and blinded us to the evils he perpetuated under our name. That’s why I returned to Onderon: I wanted to change my home and thought the Republic was the kindest way to do it, even if I didn’t agree with the Chancellor’s actions.” He pushed his shaggy hair back from his face. “Maybe we were fools to think we could put the fire out from inside the starship.” 

“You’re still in it,” she pointed out. 

“Well, there’s no getting out now,” Lux said. “The new emperor knows all about my Jedi sympathies. If I went rogue, I’m sure Imperial hitmen would show up at my friends’ doorsteps the next day. Dooku used a similar strategy to keep the more neutral Separatists under control.” 

“So, King Dendup is going to join the Empire?” she asked. 

“ _He_ will.” Lux scowled. “Saw won’t. He wants to send a message.” He scooped up one of his datapads, then just as quickly threw it back onto his desk in disgust. “After dark, he’s going to object to the Imperial invasion with a lot of high-powered explosives.” 

Ahsoka frowned, the holoimages from Mandalore’s defeat fresh in her mind. “But Onderon would be crushed. You said so yourself. Can’t you stop him?” 

“I tried,” Lux snapped. “Dendup tried—but Saw commands the personal loyalty of the militia. None of them wear uniforms and we don’t keep their names on record for security reasons. And these aren’t the people you trained, Ahsoka. They’ve gotten more extremist since Steela’s death.” 

“Saw must know he can’t win!” 

“It’s not about winning,” Lux said. “Not for him. Dendup is going to denounce Saw and hope the Empire sees this act as a radical group of partisans instead of all of Onderon rising up. If the Emperor doesn’t believe him, then, well ... Onderon might need a new king. And a new senator.” 

Ahsoka could not think of any reply to that. 

“Hey,” Lux said, “did you say I was right about the Jedi?” 

“I suppose.” 

“Could you say it again into my vocorecorder?” 

She glared at him. “No. It would go right to your head.” 

“I’m a senator. I can’t resist.” 

This was hardly the time for humor, but Ahsoka couldn’t resist smiling at his cockiness. There was something irrepressible about Lux; she admired that about him. Once, she had even loved him for it. 

The heat of Lux’s gaze lingered on her a little too long, so she stood and said, “We should regroup with Rex. We should tell you what happened on our end.” 

Lux shot to his feet. “Right. Yes. We should.” 

As they walked towards the bunker, Ahsoka checked on Rex. His presence in the Force was like a distant fire at night, a warm glow of intelligence, loyalty, and purpose buffered by cool leagues of duty. The shadow of grief and its acceptance stretched out behind him—now more than ever—but on the surface, at least, he was calm. 

She still rapped on the bunker door to warn him before they entered. Rex was sitting at the table, his partially disassembled blaster arrayed around his hands. He had showered in the interim and scrubbed the worst of the mud out of his blacks and kama. When he saw Ahsoka, he stood at attention. 

“You can’t keep doing that,” she chided, “and, while I’m thinking of it, you shouldn’t call me _sir_ or _commander_ , either.” 

For a split second, he looked aghast. Then, he said, “Yes, C—” He caught himself. “Ahsoka.” 

“We’re all caught up,” she told him, settling in the chair opposite, Lux at her side. “I was about to tell Lux about Mandalore.” 

“You should probably start, then,” Rex told her. 

Ahsoka told Lux about her months-long mission tracking Maul down to Mandalore, and how she had asked for Obi-Wan’s assistance. Then, Ahsoka and Rex took turns explaining Maul’s capture and Bo-Katan’s victory, and how they had escorted Maul back to Coruscant. 

The mood aboard the cruiser home had been almost giddy with anticipation. With Coruscant defended, Dooku dead, Grievous cornered, and Maul captured, it seemed like the war would be over within days. The 332nd had been eager to rejoin their 501st brothers on Coruscant to celebrate the end; Jesse had offered to take Ahsoka to 79’s to mark their mission’s success. Just moments before the jump to hyperspace, Ahsoka had tried contacting Anakin to tell him the good news in person, utterly oblivious that Order 66 would change their lives forever just minute later. 

The buzz of overlapping comms echoed in Ahsoka’s mind, all repeating the same command as Rex turned towards her, his blasters pointed at her chest. In that moment, his had not been the face of a remorseless killer. The thought was both comforting and horrifying. 

Rex glanced at her when her voice stopped, then took over seamlessly, relating their escape from the cruiser as if he were telling Lux the local weather. 

After Rex finished, Lux sat back, slowly dragging both hands down his cheeks. “That’s ... worse than I could have imagined. You said it’s because of a chip?” 

“That’s correct, sir,” Rex said. 

“And Ahsoka removed yours after it was triggered? Could we do that for other clones?” 

“I had to rely on the Force to find it,” Ahsoka said, “and I needed a military-grade medpod for removal.”

“I don’t know if it’s a permanent solution, Senator,” Rex said. “I know of at least two clones who had their chips removed before the order was issued and both died within a day. The chip might be designed to impair our neural functions if it’s tampered with.” His gaze flicked to Ahsoka. “Commander Tano may have saved my life in a way we can’t quantify.” 

“That makes two of us, Captain,” Lux joked. “I have a medical droid. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll manage a brain scan.” 

“Will we have time?” Ahsoka asked him. Quickly, she told Rex about Saw’s plans for Iziz. 

“The Empire will lock down Iziz the moment the fighting starts,” Rex pointed out. “We would be stuck inside the city.” 

“Then we should get out of Iziz before things worsen,” Ahsoka said. “Preferably off-planet, but our ship is too conspicuous and we’re out of fuel.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t help there,” Lux said. “My only ship is a diplomatic vessel—good shields and hyperdrive, but no guns and it’s about as maneuverable as a Nar Shadaa crop sprayer.” 

Ahsoka mentally ran through her list of allies. “...I think I can call in a favor.” 

“Onderonian space will be blockaded.” 

“The pilot’s a good one.” 

Lux hesitated. “Are you sure? You could always stay here—either of you. Onderon has a long road ahead of it, I fear. You would have all the action you could ever need.” 

“I don’t want action without results,” Ahsoka said. “I’ve seen Saw’s style of revolution.” 

She turned to Rex, suddenly afraid that Saw’s bloody insurgency would appeal to him; Rex had, after all, trained Saw in the same tactics. 

“My place is with my commander,” Rex said firmly. 

Lux glanced aside, seeming to grapple with something. Then, she felt his decision click into place moments before he said, “I understand. Let me get you some new clothes, bacta, money, food—you can’t live on Republic ration cubes alone. Even if you’re only going to Naboo, the galaxy is a different place these days.” 

“Thank you, Lux,” Ahsoka said. 

He brushed it off. “It’s the least I can do. You’re our hope now, Ahsoka.” 


	5. Resurgence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter TW:** suicidal ideation 

**Iziz, Onderon  
25.0 hours after Order 66**

Like most older med droids, D-0C was annoyingly fussy. It tutted over Rex’s dirty bandage, rattling off common brain infections in the Mid Rim and then seguing into the symptoms of septic shock. Finally, when faced with the business end of Rex’s blaster, D-0C subsided to muttering in between ordering Rex to lay still for the brain scan. 

Rex reluctantly closed his eyes. Since Geonosis, he and his brothers had developed a deep dislike for droids—an inconvenience in a galaxy full of them. 

A warm ray passed over his face and D-0C beeped twice. 

“You may rise,” it said. 

Rex sat up on the couch as D-0C puttered over to Bonteri and projected a holoimage of Rex’s head from its optical circuit. Rex’s brain was outlined in green, except for a tiny red sliver over his right temple. 

“A section of the amygdala has been removed from the subject’s brain, but no abnormal neural activity has resulted,” D-0C told Bonteri. “In my opinion, other than a terminal case of stupidity, the patient has made a full recovery.” 

“Doc, make two copies of the scan,” Bonteri ordered. 

Rex peeled off the bandage, rubbing the fresh ridge of scar tissue on his scalp. He had been monitoring himself for signs of mental deterioration—like what Fives had experienced during his last hours. After hearing the medical droid’s diagnosis, though, Rex was beginning to suspect Fives’ symptoms had not stemmed from the chip’s removal, as the Kaminoans had claimed. Fives had met the Chancellor just hours before, and before that, he had been sedated on a Kaminoan transport. There had been plenty of time for either the Chancellor or the Kaminoans—or both—to alter Fives’ mental state and blame the resulting incoherence on the chip to cover their tracks. 

The med droid spat out a holodisc and Bonteri handed it to Rex. “Maybe you can use it to save the other clones.” 

“I hope so, sir,” Rex said. 

“And the Jedi, of course.” Bonteri glanced towards the ’freshers, where Commander Tano had disappeared for a shower. “I’m worried about Ahsoka.” 

Rex was, too, but it was inappropriate to express doubt in his commanding officer to a civilian, no matter how well-meaning his concern. “She’ll pull through, sir.” 

“You’ll look after her, then?” 

“We’ll look after each other.” 

“Well, let me help.” Bonteri kicked open one of the crates stacked against the wall and heaved two packs onto the table. “Here. Everything you need for a week in the jungle, plus some extras.” 

Rex took a quick inventory. “Very good, sir... There is one more thing I’d like to request, if I could.” 

“What is it?” 

“I need something to cover my face.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Bonteri said. “Let me see what I can find.” 

After Bonteri left, Rex unpacked both bags—as well as the one Commander Tano had brought with her—and consolidated everything into Bonteri’s packs. Rex allocated most of the food, bacta, and credits for Commander Tano, and moved the bulky scrap metal, water filtration unit, and change of clothes to his own pack; if they were separated, she would have the survival gear. Rex also picked through Bonteri’s blaster selection for a suitable sidearm for Commander Tano, choosing a DL-44. He found the appropriate power packs and added them to her supplies, setting the blaster itself and its matching holster on the table. 

The senator returned a few minutes later, carrying a bundle of reddish clothes, a massive datapad, and an elongated object wrapped in velvet. Bonteri handed the clothes to Rex. “It’ll help you blend in. I hope they fit.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Bonteri suddenly snatched them back and ripped something off the tunic’s shoulder. Rex’s eye was instantly drawn to the threaded outline of a hexagon—the same shape as the emblem Rex had seen stamped onto millions of battle droids. Bonteri had the grace to look abashed. 

Rex sighed and took the clothes. “Ah, well. It turns out we were on the same side anyway.” 

He unbuckled his kama and pulled the crimson tunic over his blacks. It was tight in the arms and chest, but he only needed to wear it until he left Iziz. His blasters hung openly on top of his kama. The keffiyeh took a few minutes of negotiation and Bonteri’s help, but Rex was able to wind it around his head until only his eyes were visible. 

The door to the ’freshers opened and Commander Tano emerged, freshly showered and wearing a nondescript brown jumpsuit and the cloak Rex had borrowed for their entry to Iziz. Bathing was perhaps futile when they were about to return to the jungle, but Rex never underestimated the therapeutic properties of a hot soak. She seemed more present than before as she walked over to the table holding their supplies. 

“Is the blaster for me?” she asked Rex. 

“A DL-Forty-Four,” he said. “Powerful, accurate, and discreet—but it’ll overheat if you shoot it too quickly.” 

“I doubt that’ll be a problem,” she said. 

She handed his DC-17 back and he couldn’t resist spinning it around his finger a few times before holstering it. Commander Tano rolled her eyes and moved onto the hefty datapad Bonteri had brought with him. She lifted it for a closer inspection, her forearms visibly straining under the weight. 

“Who _made_ this?” she asked. 

“I did,” Bonteri said, crossing his arms defensively. “There’s not a more secure datapad in the whole galaxy. You can use it to call your ride.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it does its job,” Commander Tano said. “It’s just—” She pulled out one of its four antennae in a shower of sparks “—ugly.” 

“You can fix it however see fit,” Bonteri told her. He offered her the last item on the table. “You might like _this_ better. It’s just collecting dust around here, but...” 

Commander Tano unsheathed the broadsword and held it perpendicular to her body, watching the light glimmer along the edge. 

“It’s a real _beskad_ ,” Bonteri explained. “My mom received it as a present from Duchess Satine many years ago. It’s not pure _beskar_ , but the duchess said it’s close enough to parry a lightsaber a few times.” 

The way Bonteri had presented the sword had made it seem incredibly valuable, but to Rex—who, admittedly, had little experience with bladed weapons—the _beskad_ seemed cumbersome and conspicuous, especially compared to a lightsaber. 

Commander Tano swung the blade a few times, the heavy _beskad_ whistling through the air. Then, she sheathed it before strapping it to her belt. “Thank you, Lux.” 

“Think nothing of it, Ahsoka,” Bonteri said, smiling. He checked his chrono. “Now, let’s get you both out of here before Saw’s mad plan starts.” 

Rex and Commander Tano shouldered their packs and followed Bonteri back up to his house. He led them to a back door, which let out into a narrow alley stretching for several meters in either direction. The alley was cast in the grey-blue shadow of late afternoon, but it was still sweltering; Rex missed his temperature-controlled armor as the sweat immediately began beading under his blacks. 

“There’s a map of Iziz on the datapad,” Bonteri told them. “The fighting won’t start until sundown, so you have plenty of time to get out of the city.” 

Rex glanced uneasily up at the _Venator_ hovering menacingly over the city, half-concealed behind the hazy clouds. The Imperials had brought maybe a thousand men to Onderon, but that was more than enough to depopulate Iziz. 

Rex tried to tell himself this was a tactical retreat, but he had been made to protect civilians, not the other way around. This felt like running away, and Rex had not earned his _jaig_ eyes for cowardice. 

“What will you do?” Commander Tano asked Bonteri, drawing her hood over her montrals. 

“What you would do—help,” Bonteri said. “The Empire can’t fault me for organizing medical treatment or evacuation orders on my own planet—but in the future, I expect to return to a more active role in Onderon’s freedom.” He saluted Rex using the wrong hand. “We’ll put your lessons to good use.” 

“With respect, Senator,” Rex said, a little testily, “the Separatists were overextended and had to rely on a puppet king when they invaded Onderon. The Empire has all the Republic’s strengths and none of its enemies—and the Empire doesn’t use clankers. You’ll be facing clones; droid poppers won’t cut it.” 

Bonteri’s confident smile slipped. “My father was a Separatist officer. I know a little about killing clones.” 

Normally, Rex would have fought the kid out of principle, but for now, he was relieved that he didn’t need to give an ex-Separatist an overview of GAR infantry tactics. It would have been too acute a betrayal. 

Bonteri loitered at the door, his eyes low but fixed on Commander Tano. Rex took an exaggerated step into the alley, turning his back to play blind as well as deaf. Force knew he had done it enough times for General Skywalker and Senator Amidala. 

“Keep in touch,” Bonteri told her, “even if you destroy your comlink. I want to know you’re—” 

“Safe?” Commander Tano snorted. “I don’t think that’s realistic.” 

“Alive,” Bonteri finished. “You are our greatest hope, Ahsoka. Our allies will feel stronger knowing a Jedi is on our side. And you’re always welcome on Onderon, as a Jedi, a friend, or...” 

“Thank you,” she said. “May the Force be with you.” 

“And with you.” 

Then, Commander Tano walked past Rex and he fell in step behind her, covering her blind spot before they rejoined the main streets. There were more civilians out now than when Rex had first arrived, likely because they were taking advantage of the long shadows cast by the setting sun. Mixed among them, though, were squads of clones with battered, neon blue paint splashed onto their armor. 

Rex’s gaze was pulled to each visor as he anticipated some sign of recognition, acutely aware the only things separating him from his brothers was a strip of cloth and two days’ worth of stubble—and the immutable command the chip had seared into their brains. 

Every time Rex closed his eyes, he saw Commander Tano’s eyes widen in surprise as he aimed his blasters at her. A cold voice that was his but not rushed through his ears like his pounding pulse: _Kill her, kill her, kill her._ He had not stopped to wonder what treason the Jedi had committed to warrant a death sentence or about the welfare of his men; his only goal had been to kill Commander Tano and Maul as quickly and efficiently as possible. 

But it had been just over a day since Order 66. Were his brothers still under its directive? Did they even remember it had been issued? Tup hadn’t believed him when Rex had told him that he had killed General Tiplar, but that may have been because his chip had malfunctioned. What if the functional chips took over a clone’s mind forever? 

Commander Tano swerved to the opposite side of the street, pulling Rex away from his brothers as he automatically followed. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the hilt of her new _beskad_. 

Rex forced himself back into the present. Right now, his commander needed him more than he needed to save his brothers. 

Rex discreetly bumped her wrist. “Weren’t you lecturing me about blending in?” 

“They won’t sense it,” she muttered. 

“I can. You’re too nervous.” 

“There are more clones here than we faced on the _Venator_ ,” she said, her voice hiking, “and we don’t know Iziz as well as a cruiser. If a fight breaks out—” 

“I’ve got your back,” he told her. “We can take these chumps. Look at them march. I’d make the entire Five-Oh-First knock it down and give me a hundred for fielding a detachment that sloppy.” 

His false bravado had the desired effect; her hands returned to her pack straps. “Which battalion is this?” 

“The Seven-Twelfth Expeditionary,” Rex replied. “Last stationed on Lantillies under Commander Judge and General Idona.” 

Her lip curled. “It seems like Judge skipped _jury_ and went right to _executioner_.” 

“That was ... a little dark, sir.”

“You’re right. It’s not like he had a choice.” She glanced over to him. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’m doing better, sir,” Rex said, and was surprised to find that he meant it. “I’m glad we watched the HoloNews. It felt good to put a face to the enemy.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

“Well, before we came to Onderon, we didn’t know who Sidious was or what his goals were, other than to exterminate the Jedi,” Rex said. “But despite all of Palpatine’s Sith mysticism, his only goal appears to be galactic domination. It’s very...” He fumbled for the right word “...human.” 

“ _Human_?” Commander Tano grimaced. “Not the world I would use.” 

“It’s understandable,” Rex clarified. “Look, we’ve fought this war before. Conquest was what the Separatists wanted, after all.” 

“Or what the Republic said they wanted,” she said, but she seemed to be turning over his words. After a minute, she said, “I see your point. Sidious has his army and the Jedi are gone. With both of his major problems solved, his next moves should be predictable: he’ll crack down on rebellious systems until he rules the galaxy.” 

“And this time we know exactly how many forces he has at their disposal, and their positions, strategies, and weaknesses,” Rex said. As he spoke, he felt the frayed edges of his shattered world slowly push closer together. He knew his enemy and he knew his allies. That would need to be enough for now. “And we know General Kenobi survived, and a likely place to rendezvous with him and any other living Jedi. From Naboo, we can plan, regroup, and counterattack. Then, we’ll either win or die, and we won’t need to worry about the fate of the galaxy either case.” 

She snorted. “I appreciate your optimism.” 

“Thank you, Commander.” 

She elbowed him. “Look.” 

Rex followed her tilted montrals to a human male crouching beside a fruit cart. To a passerby, looked like he was checking the cart’s repulsors, but he was actually attaching thermal detonators to the undercarriage. Rex counted four before the human straightened up, waved to the shopkeeper, and continued down the road, a lumpy sack slung over his shoulder. 

“I hope Gerrera knows what he’s doing,” Rex said. 

“Of course he does,” Commander Tano said. “He learned from the best, didn’t he?” 

“Thank you, sir.”

“I was referring to me.”

Rex turned to look at her incredulously. “I don’t remember _you_ showing the rebels how to disable an AAT.” 

“That’s because most beings can’t use my method,” Commander Tano replied. “Besides, I don’t remember Onderon achieving independence while you were here.” 

She seemed in higher spirits, or perhaps she was just putting on a brave front. If she was, Rex would happily play along. Psychology was half the battle. 

“That was the point,” Rex reminded her. “The rebels were supposed to...” 

This time, he noticed the saboteur: a green-skinned Twi’lek leaning against a wall as she watched two women play holochess. Her posture concealed a long-barreled sniper rifle tucked under one arm. 

Between himself and Commander Tano, they noticed at least fifty beings lining the avenue. Some merely had blasters, while others were setting explosives or moving speeders or crates into defensible positions as the 712th trooped obliviously past. Rex bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, a poisonous vine of guilt twisting around his heart. 

“What is it?” Commander Tano asked. 

“Uh ... nothing, sir,” he replied, tearing his eyes away from the squad marching right past a speeder Rex knew was laden with thermal detonators. “Everything’s fine.” 

“I don’t need to be a Jedi to know that’s not true.” 

Rex scuffed his boots into the dusty paving stones as he mulled over his words. “A few days before you joined General Skywalker on Christophsis, one of my sergeants, Slick, worked with the Separatists to sabotage our weapons depot.” Rex waited for another band of troopers to pass before continuing. “When Cody and I confronted him, he claimed he had done it for the good of all clones. I can’t help but feel the same way—that I’m betraying my brothers to somehow save their lives.” 

“You are nothing like Slick,” Commander Tano said. “From what Anakin and Cody told me, it sounded like Slick was actively trying to kill clones.” 

“And running away is that much better?” Rex snapped. “I ran from the cruiser and I’m running from Iziz. At least if I killed my brothers with a blaster, I would have been brave enough to look them in the eye.” 

Commander Tano flinched. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“No, Commander,” Rex said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. You didn’t—” 

“I’m not blameless,” she said. “I freed Maul.” 

After a moment, Rex felt brave enough to ask. “Why _did_ you free him?” 

“I thought we would be able to recapture him after we removed everyone’s chips,” she said. “I thought I could fix everything at once, starting with you.” She smiled. “But saving just you was enough.” 

Rex thought of the several hundred brothers he had left behind on that barren moon, and wondered if it was. 

“Running is the best option we have,” Commander Tano continued. “Think of it like an escort mission, or like we’ve been dropped behind enemy lines. We need to survive so we can tell Obi-Wan about Sidious and the chip. Maybe he already knows, and Cody will be there, too.” 

Somewhere behind them, someone screamed, “ _For the Jedi!_ ” 

Rex turned, drawing his blaster and hearing the answering hum of Commander Tano’s _beskad_. A Duros wearing a vest of explosives sprinted towards a company of clones, detonator held high in one blue hand. The civilians froze, but the clones reacted instantly, filling the Duros with bolts. The charges detonated, sending four clones, two civilians, and a chunk of the road into the lower atmosphere. Limbs, cobblestones, and bits of flesh and green blood pattered down from the sky seconds later. 

“Redline!” a 712th clone shouted. He knelt beside a fallen trooper, easing off his own helmet to listen to his brother’s heart. 

“Medic! We need a medic!” another clone yelled. 

A dozen clones poured in from the side streets, Deeces tracking the terrified, fleeing civilians as they ran for cover. Rex turned towards the bomb site, his lungs filling as he readied himself to bark out a line of commands. They needed to establish a perimeter and call in air support. The civilians should be—

Commander Tano caught his arm. “We should hurry. It’s starting.” 

She kept a steadying hold on him as she led them to the city outskirts. The humanoids that Commander Tano had tricked earlier had been replaced with a squad of 712th clones. They turned away everyone entering Iziz, but seemed disinterested in anyone leaving the capital by foot. Rex and Commander Tano barely received a nod of acknowledgement. 

By the time they left Iziz, the sun had disappeared behind the jungle, sending Onderon into a grey hour of keen uncertainty. Commander Tano cut into the trees as soon as they were out of sight of the gatehouse. It was a tough, uphill scramble in the fading light. Rex slipped on loose dirt, his feet catching on hidden vines. Behind them, they heard the first detonations, followed by the rhythmic _thump-thump-thump_ of a firing E-Web. Explosions from Iziz would briefly illuminate Rex’s path before the darkness fell again, even more absolute than before. 

Rex finally reached the top of the ridge they had used to survey the gatehouse earlier that day, now sweating and filthy, his palms skinned from the climb. Commander Tano was already there, her gaze fixed on Iziz. Rex turned to look with her. 

Iziz was on fire. The yellow explosions from thermal detonators bloomed high over the city walls, clashing with the purple-tinged blasts of rydonium IEDs—bombs Rex had once showed Gerrera how to make. Lines of blaster fire sizzled through the night, the standard blue Deece rounds criss-crossing with the greens, reds, and whites of civilian arms. Swarms of Z-95 Headhunters buzzed overhead as the swooped down to strafe the streets. The _Acclamator_ had descended from the atmosphere, its heavy cannons—designed to shred enemy _battle cruisers_ , not civilian _homes_ —shelling entire quadrants of the city with a single volley. 

Rex had seen thousands of battlefields, but never one so devoid of hope. No matter the outcome, no one would win: rebels would die, robbing Onderon of trained operatives; civilians would die because they had been at the wrong place at the wrong time; and dead clones would be replaced like spare parts, dying for a cause against everything they had ever believed in, but unable to stand against it. 

And Rex was standing three klicks away on this stupid ridge, uselessly watching it all unfold and doing nothing about it, his fists clenched so tightly he could feel the blood thumping through each individual finger. Even from here, he could hear the screams of the dead and dying, the scattered echoes of blaster fire, the low roar of the flames as they consumed it all. He even thought he could hear the comms chatter relayed between his brothers. 

_“Rebels engaged in sector ten!”_

_“Air support needed!”_

_“Trooper down!”_

A rocket streaked upward from the city center, striking a LAAT/i’s underbelly and sending it spiraling into Iziz’s outer walls. The gunship exploded on impact, bathing Commander Tano in sickly green light. 

“I should be down there,” Commander Tano said, her voice dangerously quiet. 

Rex swallowed a thorny mouthful of self-loathing and said, “You said so yourself that running was our best strategy.” 

“I know what I said, but we can’t just think in terms of _strategy_ ,” she said, spitting out the last word. “Those people need our help.” 

He chose his next words very carefully, speaking as much to himself to her. “You are one of the last Jedi left in the entire galaxy. That makes your life worth more than all of theirs.” 

Her lekku darkened in anger as she swung around, her finger stabbing towards the burning city. “Those are civilians! They didn’t _choose_ to die—and none of them chose to die for _me_.” 

“We need to _survive_ ,” Rex retorted. “Our duty is to regroup with General Kenobi and Senator Amidala to take down Sidious. We can’t do that if we die on Onderon!” 

“Anakin would have stayed in Iziz,” she snapped. 

“He would have died there, too.” For the first time, Rex realized Skywalker’s own battalion—Rex’s own 501st—had gunned their general down. It struck him like a blow, but he had taken too many hits in the last day for this one to truly connect. 

“He would have found a way around this,” she said desperately. “There must be a way to save everyone. We can’t—I can’t just turn away from Iziz’s people as the Emperor slaughters them. Who are we living for, if not them?” 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Rex snarled, throwing his pack to the ground, “but right now, I’m living for you, and if you go back to Iziz, I’m going with you. I was made to fight side-by-side with my Jedi, not run away as the greatest evil of our lives destroys everything we ever fought for!” 

An explosion threw half of Commander Tano’s face into sharp relief. Her fury had been extinguished, replaced by a grim mix of resignation and determination Rex felt reflected in himself. She slipped one of the pack straps off her shoulder. “What are our chances of survival?” 

“Low.” Rex shared the clone ambivalence towards death—it was coming sooner rather than later, it was probably going to be violent, and if you were going down, it was better to go down hard. He’d been prepared for this for a long time. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, kid.” 

Her hands curled into fists. Blood slowly dripped down her fingers as she stared at the battlefield. “No.” She turned to him, a tear running down her cheek. “We may be the only ones who know the truth about Order Sixty-Six, the control chips, and Palpatine. And Obi-Wan is waiting for us. You were right—no matter what we do, we won’t defeat the Empire here. We can’t die.” 

Rex had been irreversible separated from his brothers, the Jedi were dead, and the Republic had been shattered. He had very little to live for, if not revenge—and Commander Tano. “We’ll live, then—until the Emperor sees justice.” 

“The time for justice is over,” she said flatly. “I’m going to kill him.” 

There was something very Skywalker in the way she glared down at the Iziz’s destruction, the reflection from its fires smoldering in her eyes. 

“Not if I get there first,” Rex said. 

They had started this war together. They were going to finish it, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline**
> 
>   * 30:00: Luke and Leia are born
>   * 30:00: Padmé dies
>   * 30:00: Vader is created
> 



	6. Echo of Hope

**Onderon  
34.25 hours after Order 66**

Rex woke to the rumble of thunder. Torrents of rain poured down from the trees overhead, but he was safely tucked under the main body of the Y-wing—two meters from where he remembered falling asleep. 

He heard a soft ripping noise and rolled into a crouch, blaster out. Commander Tano continued stripping the old bacta patch off her arm, unconcerned. 

“I moved you under the ship a few hours ago,” she said. “We should get sleep when we can.” 

Rex holstered his blaster and half-walked, half-crawled under the Y-wing to sit beside her, facing the opposite direction to keep watch. She moved the medkit between them and continued to dress her wounds. Rex peeled off the top of his bodysuit to examine the red starburst of healing tissue splayed across his shoulder. He rotated his arm a few times, noting a slight stiffness, and slapped on a new bacta patch. 

“How’s your arm?” Rex asked. 

“It’s largely superficial,” Commander Tano said. “This is my last day of bacta. You?” 

“Fighting fit, sir.”

Commander Tano must have used the Force the previous night to lead them back to the Y-wing; the jungle had been dense enough to swallow even the light from the flaming city. Upon returning to the ruins, Rex had ordered Commander Tano to rest while he took first watch, then let her sleep for six standard hours instead of the usual four. He worried the shadows under her eyes were becoming permanent. 

Rex searched their supply bag until he found two ration cubes, offering one to Commander Tano. She shook her head. 

“We need to keep up our strength,” he reminded her. 

She wiped a hand over her face, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes. It looked like she had been crying, but as much as Rex felt for her, he didn’t want to pry. She had more than enough reasons to grieve. 

“About last night,” Commander Tano said, “I wanted to apologize.” 

“What for?” Rex asked. 

“Self-sacrifice is the Jedi way. Suicide is not.” 

“It was a tough call to make,” Rex said. “And you were right. We couldn’t have made a difference.” 

It was difficult to admit, even now. The 501st was infamous for taking on impossible odds; they had one of the highest mission success rates in the GAR. Rex’s frustration ran deeper than simple pride, though. There was no avoiding the fact he and Commander Tano had watched clones massacre civilians by the thousands—watched and done _nothing_. 

But that was the price of living, and they would pay its bitter toll together. 

“Have you heard from Senator Bonteri?” Rex asked. 

Commander Tano glanced at the datapad on the ground beside her. It wasn’t quite as massive as Rex remembered; she must have fixed it. “He survived.” 

For all the control Jedi supposedly had over their emotions, he could read her as well as his brothers; there was something more she wasn’t saying. Rex waited for her to fill the silence. 

“Padmé is dead.” 

“What?” Rex demanded, dropping his ration cube. “Was it the Emperor?” 

“Lux said Senator Organa told him she died from an unrelated health problem,” she said. She drew her legs against her chest, a fresh line of tears running down her cheek. “That wasn’t all. Senator Organa told him that ... that Obi-Wan was dead, too.” 

“ _How?_ ” The question came out of Rex in a breathless rush. “He was _alive_. We heard his transmission just—” 

“A Sith named Darth Vader killed him,” she said dully. 

“Who’s Darth Vader?” 

“Sidious’ apprentice, apparently.” An undertone of hollow, infuriated laughter darkened her words as she continued. “Well, Sidious successfully hid the control chips and his double life as Palpatine.” She ripped open a packet of bacta with her teeth and spat out the wrapper. “I guess he thought, ‘Mind as well throw a kriffing _secret apprentice_ in there, too!’” 

Commander Tano squeezed too much antiseptic on her wound, hissing when it hit her abraded skin. She cursed viciously and hurled the packet into the rain. It splashed into the reddish mud about ten meters away. 

Rex struggled for the words that would take the edge off their pain. The future they had held just hours ago had already been torn from their hands; the faint chance Rex had held for seeing Cody had vanished. They were once more teetering on the brink of the unknown. 

“At least Sidious’ secret apprentice wasn’t General Skywalker, like Maul said,” Rex said at last. 

“Yes, at least Anakin _died_ instead,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“That’s ... not what I meant.” 

“Well, that’s how it came across.” 

Rex instinctively bit back a retort. As much as Commander Tano was his friend, she was still his superior—and he suspected her temper stemmed from grief, not genuine irritation. He’d seen plenty of troopers lash out like that before. “Alright. What are our options now?” 

“Obi-Wan’s death doesn’t change them,” she said. “If we can’t join Padmé, we could meet up with Senator Organa or any of the other senators Lux is working with.” 

“Was General Kenobi with Senator Amidala when they died?” Rex asked. 

“Lux didn’t say.” 

“It just seems like a bad coincidence,” he said. “Maybe the Empire _is_ hunting senators who were friendly to Jedi.” 

“Then we could lie low in the Outer Rim for a few weeks until we have a better understanding of the situation,” she suggested. 

Rex scowled. “The situation seems pretty straightforward to me. We can’t wait _weeks_.” 

“Vader’s existence proves the Emperor could have more tricks up his sleeve,” she said, wrapping a new bandage around her upper arm. “It might pay off to be cautious.” 

Before he could stop himself, Rex said, “So it’s running either way. Great.” 

Commander Tano froze mid-motion, her eyes narrowed. “I haven’t heard you come up with a plan.” 

“The only people I know are clones and Jedi, and they’re all dead,” Rex snapped. 

They glared at each other, each brimming with pain and frustration. 

Rex took a breath, trying to center himself. “I know we’re both tired and miserable, but we can’t take it out on each other. We’re the last thing we have right now.” He offered her a hand. “I’m sorry.” 

Commander Tano clasped it. “I’m sorry, too. I’m ... not angry at you. It’s this war and the order and the Empire and now not even Obi-Wan survived and I ... I don’t know what to _do_ anymore.” 

Rex sighed. “Neither do I.” 

The terror—the scrabbling, mind-scrambling, heart-thumping moments when he didn’t know what he had to do, but if he didn’t, he would die—of Order 66 had receded into bone-deep, aching horror as Rex reflected on the galaxy he now occupied. He had been chosen for command training specifically because of his intelligence, but now all his plans and scenarios and schemes spun in a sluggish gyre. Occasionally, some possibility would rise to the surface of his mind, only to sink back down again as he realized its impossibility. 

Commander Tano held out her hand, summoning the bacta she had thrown into the rain back to her palm. She wiped off the muck with the corner of her cloak and stowed it back in their first aid kit with exaggerated care. 

“Lux says the HoloNet is going to broadcast Padmé’s funeral in a few days,” she said. 

“I’ll watch it with you,” Rex offered. 

“Clones never got burials,” she said. “It feels wrong to make you watch hers.” 

“Maybe not, but our fallen _were_ remembered,” Rex said. “We kept their memories alive in our own ways.” 

Commander Tano stuck her hand into a stream of water pouring off the Y-wing, watching it sluice through her fingers. “I wish I had half of Padmé’s kindness, influence, or diplomacy. I think, in many ways, she was what the Republic—even the Jedi—should have been.” She paused. “And ... she was my friend.” 

“I liked her, too,” Rex said. “She opposed the war, but she never blamed us clones for it.” 

“Padmé always knew who her real enemies were.” 

“I remember General Kenobi—” 

“Not now,” she interrupted, her voice strained. “Not yet.” 

Lightning briefly illuminated the clearing around the Y-wing, silencing the jungle creatures. After a pause, they began to call again. 

“Well, when you’re ready,” Rex said. “I’m here.” 

“You, too,” she said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You haven’t said anything about the Five-Oh-First.” 

Rex looked away. “We ... should make leaving Onderon our first priority.” 

“Way ahead of you,” Commander Tano said. “Our ride will be here in two or three standard hours, so we have time to think of our next step.” She looked up at the clouds. “It looks like the rain is letting up. Can you run diagnostics? I had to trade the Y-wing for our ticket off-planet and I’d like it to be in good condition.” 

“Yes, Commander.”

She snorted. “No, _you’re_ the commander.” 

“ _Commander_ was the rank I held when I betrayed you and the Republic,” Rex said, Jesse’s last words cutting into him. “It’s just _captain_ , now. Or nothing.” 

“We’re both nothing right now,” she said dryly. “Tell me if the thermal coupling in the foreleg is loose.” 

He slipped back into his bodysuit and clambered up the Y-wing’s slick exterior to the primary cockpit. Rex powered up the ship, checked the power and fuel gauges, and pushed the seat back; Commander Tano had left it far too cramped for his liking. Then, he began the diagnostics sweep. The Y-wing’s loading screen, at least, was still the same old Republic cog. 

The rain drummed against the transparisteel as he waited for the report to finish compiling. With Commander Tano distracted by the deaths of the Jedi and Senator Amidala, it was Rex’s duty to find actionable intel. His whole life, though, had existed within the frame of the Grand Army; it was a rare day when he talked to anyone who wasn’t a clone or Jedi. He had certainly helped thousands, but, to them, he was just another nameless clone—and, now, a traitor, a deserter, and a Jedi killer. 

_What would General Skywalker do?_

The answer was that General Skywalker would have stayed in Iziz and damn the consequences. He probably would have turned the tide against the Empire, too. Rex imagined his last moments, standing on the steps of the Jedi Temple, his blue lightsaber reflected in the visors of the approaching 501st. Rex hoped the clones had killed him with a single shot. It was all a soldier could hope for. 

Rex kept circling back to his brothers. If any of them had escaped Order 66, they would be alone, scared, and confused, and looking for help. Rex couldn’t help them if he couldn’t help himself, but he also couldn’t bring himself to abandon them entirely. 

“So,” Rex muttered under his breath. “I’m a clone.” He frowned. “Well, I _am_ a clone. I wasn’t affected by Order Sixty-Six. My brothers have turned against me and the Jedi are dead. Who do I ask?” 

How would clones even contact each other? Their only comlinks were routed through the Grand Army communication network. 

Rex turned on the last remaining GAR channel. Emperor Palpatine’s wizened, hateful visage appeared in the center of the control yolk. “Exe—cute Or—der Sixty-s—ix. Ex—ecute Ord—er Six—ty-Six...” 

Rex smacked the yolk to bring the spotty transmission back into focus. The image became sharper, but the voice remained the same. Maybe the way the transmission had been cut was the key to triggering the chips. After all, clones had joked about Order 66 amongst themselves without prematurely activating the command. 

No, that couldn’t be it. Rex remembered Palpatine’s transmission to him had been crystal clear. 

Rex glared at the Chancellor or Darth Sidious or the Emperor, or whoever he was these days. This was the only way clones could contact each other and he was clogging the channel with his murderous command. There was no way a clone could—

The message looped again. The same three words played back, the same ones that haunted Rex’s waking moments. But ...

Half-terrified, half-excited, Rex began to count the breaks. “Ex—” _Short, short, short_ “—ecute Or—” _Short, short, long_ “—der—” _Long, short, short, short_ “—Sixty-s—” _short, short, short_ “—ix. Ex—” _Short, long, long, short..._

_Surviving brothers: subspace frequency echo A-41-4HBK0._

Commander Tano rapped on the transparisteel bubble with her hydrospanner, her cloak already soaked through. “Are the diagnostics done?” She pressed her face against the viewport. “Why are you listening to that?” 

Rex unsealed the cockpit. “Listen! It’s a code! Count the patterns when the transmission cuts out.” 

“Let me in. We can’t let the rain fry the control panel.” 

She squeezed into the cramped cockpit, shutting the bubble behind her and almost sitting on Rex’s shoulder as she bent over the comms. He anxiously watched her lips move as she counted. 

“See?” Rex asked. “It loops. It’s not an anomaly—it’s a message for any clones who weren’t affected by Order Sixty-Six. Any other clone would watch it once and turn off the message. Anyone who’s sitting here and listening to this probably isn’t affected!” 

“Do you think there could be others out there?” she asked, turning to face him. “The chip was pretty much undetectable, even to the military-grade medical droids.” 

“There might be hundreds of men out there whose chips have been damaged or accidentally removed by brain surgery or head trauma,” Rex said, “and those men are going to be lost and confused, and in danger being killed by their own brothers for treason they don’t understand.” 

She frowned pensively. “I’ve never heard of a ‘frequency echo’ before.” 

“Maybe it’s being bounced through multiple channels,” Rex suggested.

“Maybe,” she said. “Let me get Lux’s ugly datapad so we can figure it out who’s sending this. I don’t want to walk into a trap.” 

“Wait,” Rex said, his elation fading to despair. “We need to find a place to hide, not chase after clones.” 

“Why can’t we do both?” she pointed out, a touch impatiently. “Anyone who can hack the Emperor’s own transmission might have other intel we can use. And if it’s not safe, we don’t need to go.” 

At that moment, Rex would have followed her straight into a sarlacc’s gullet. “...Thank you, Commander.” 

She wrapped an arm around his head and squeezed. “It’s what Anakin would have done.” Then, she opened the cockpit and hopped out, returning a moment later with the encrypted ’pad. Rex typed in the code and they both stared expectantly at the screen as it searched the galaxy for the sender. The only sound was the steady drip of Commander Tano’s soaked poncho. 

The comms suddenly crackled to life and a crisp, neutral accent played into the cabin. “Name and unit. Keep it quick.” 

Rex grinned, unable to stop himself. He knew that voice anywhere. “Echo. It’s Rex.” 

Commander Tano tapped his shoulder and tilted her head inquisitively. Rex motioned her to wait. 

“ _Rex_?” Echo asked. “Oh, thank fierfek. Where are you?” 

“On the run. Are you still with the Bad Batch?” 

“Yes.” Echo’s voice lowered. “They were ... affected. We’re hunting Jedi.” 

“Sit tight and I’ll call in an evac. It’ll be like Skako Minor in reverse.” 

“Not yet. Do you have a ship?” 

Rex looked to Commander Tano. She nodded, so Rex said, “Yes.” 

“I don’t have much time,” Echo said, “but there are a lot of lives at stake. Meet me at Kachirho, Kashyyyk in the next standard day.” 

They were lucky; Kashyyyk was the next sector over from Onderon. “I’ll be there.” 

“Turn on your datapad’s locator when you arrive. It’ll ... be just like old times.” 

Echo disconnected. 

“Our Echo?” Commander Tano asked. “The one you rescued with Anakin?” 

“The same man,” Rex confirmed. Jesse had recounted the story on their way to Mandalore. It had been the second thing he told her, after showing off his promotion to ARC. “The Techno Union’s experiments on his mind must have disrupted or removed Echo’s chip.” 

“This might be risky,” she said. “I remember reading the Republic was deployed there just before the Order went out.” 

“The Forty-First Elite,” Rex confirmed. “I could go alone.” 

“No,” she said immediately. “We shouldn’t split up. We’ll just need to be careful.” She thought for a moment. “Echo’s assignment could be a good thing. He probably has all the Empire’s leads on the locations of surviving Jedi—and he said lives were at stake.” 

Sheer _purpose_ hit Rex’s veins like a stim. The fact that Echo was asking only made the call more potent. 

“If Echo thinks we can make a difference, we should try,” Rex said. “I trust him.” 

“As do I,” Commander Tano said. She crossed her arms. “Well, Sidious will follow us no matter what we do, so we mind as well make it count. We can’t be _too_ careful.” 

“ _Careful_ isn’t exactly in our nature, is it, Commander?”

Her answering smile was soft and crooked, without a desperate hint of recklessness or self-deprecation. Hope grew in that smile, wobbling on weak legs like a newborn eopie. “Never was, Rex.” 

The bubble hissed open and Commander Tano stepped out, pausing with her foot on the lip of the cockpit. “I’ll contact our ride to tell them our plan.” 

“It’s not Hondo, is it?” Rex asked warily. He had heard stories from Cody. 

“I trust Hondo as far as I can throw him—without the Force,” she replied. “The Martez sisters are much more reputable, but they will want a functional Y-wing. How’s that diagnostic?” 

Rex bent over the control panel and read the ship’s report aloud with newfound confidence. At last, he knew they weren’t alone anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if Morse code exists as such, but the Mandalorians have _dadita_ and several _Clone Wars_ episodes have demonstrated the ability to transfer data through coded sounds or hand gestures, so something similar to Morse probably exists. 


	7. The Silver Angel

**Onderon  
37.0 hours after Order 66**

Ahsoka kept the Y-wing in the lower atmosphere, keeping well below Imperial sensors as she flew towards the rendezvous. She had initially worried the Empire would get a visual on her anyway, but it seemed that the Imperial presence was centered on Iziz and other urban areas in the more settled north. 

Onderon’s climate grew drier as Ahsoka flew south. Steaming jungles faded into open plains, then to rocky deserts where stunted plants twisted out of the wind-carved cliffs. Ahsoka landed the Y-wing in what appeared to be a dry riverbed, hoping the overhanging ledge would conceal them from unfriendly eyes. 

Ahsoka updated Trace on her position and popped open the cockpit. Iziz’s omnipresent humidity had been transformed into pure heat and Ahsoka was grateful for the shade provided by the canyon towering over them. The silence was eerie. 

Rex scaled the wall with his binocs, his helmet clashing with his nondescript red tunic. A few minutes later, he slid back down the slope, bringing a small cascade of pebbles with him. 

“No signs of sentient life or energy signatures,” he reported, his voice bouncing through the canyon’s dry air, “but the terrain could be hiding them. It’s as good a place for an ambush as a meetup.” 

“We won’t be here for long,” Ahsoka said.

Rex removed his helmet. “So, how do you know Captain Martez?” 

“I helped Trace and her sister, Rafa, escape the Pykes,” she said. “They owe me one—and they’re my friends.” 

“The Pykes are spice lords.” 

“Well, the Martez sisters _are_ smugglers,” she said. “You can’t expect them to have a perfect record.” 

Ahsoka sensed his discomfort, but Rex only said, “As long as they get us off Onderon.” 

“They will.” She hopped off the Y-wing and sat beside him, setting her back into the cool curve of the rock. “What do you think Echo is doing on Kashyyyk?” 

“General Unduli, General Yoda, and a few other Knights and Padawans were stationed there at the end of the war,” Rex said. “My bet is that one or both of the generals escaped and the Bad Batch is after them—maybe they’re the lives Echo mentioned.” 

“I hope so,” Ahsoka said, “but then we might need to fight the Bad Batch.” 

“That won’t be easy,” Rex acknowledged. “Individually, they’re better than ARCs—and there’s four of them.” After a pause he amended, “Well, five. I’m not surprised the Empire has them hunting Jedi masters.” 

“They won’t catch Master Yoda,” Ahsoka said with more confidence than she felt. “The Force must have forewarned him about Order Sixty-Six.” 

Rex snorted. “And now the Bad Batch are chasing a tiny green Jedi on a jungle planet. I don’t envy them.” He suddenly turned towards Ahsoka, hands spread in appeasement. “I mean, what they’re doing is wrong and—” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” she reassured him. “They’re still your brothers.” 

“Yeah. That’s the hard part.” 

After a minute of strained silence, Rex clambered back up the wall to keep a lookout. Ahsoka closed her eyes, letting her conscience leach into her surroundings. 

She sensed Rex first. The anxiety and aching loneliness that had followed him like a cloud had faded, but in the sense that it had been pushed away rather than healed. A new sense of urgency colored his thoughts, shot through with the deep shades of loyalty, love, and desperation. For his sake, Ahsoka hoped Echo met them in Kachirho. There were few certainties in the galaxy and Rex deserved one. 

Ahsoka moved past Rex, past Morai’s familiar presence, and into the thousands of organisms buried in the sand or hiding beneath the few plants that could survive the blistering sun. They were all resting, breathing, patiently waiting for nightfall. 

Tentatively, she reached deeper, into the web of Force connecting all the creatures of the galaxy. When she had entered the cosmic Force as a Jedi, she had been a reckless diver, but now she snuck back to her old home like a thief, her presence dancing atop its bright surface. The turbulence she had sensed earlier had dissipated, but a yawning absence had opened in its place. The Force felt ... empty. Where thousands of streams had once drawn off the living Force, there was now only a trickle. 

The creature in the depths awoke, tasting the currents of the Force for her scent. Ahsoka stroked the surface of the Force in farewell and withdrew, feeling the dark presence recede behind her. It was not enough for the Sith to burn her home and kill her family; they had poisoned the very wellspring of the Force, too. 

“I’m picking up a large energy signature coming this way,” Rex announced. “It fits the profile of the ship you described.” 

Ahsoka drew her blaster and took cover with Rex behind the Y-wing, Lux’s heavy _beskad_ thumping against her leg with each step. The _Nebula_ -class freighter slotted neatly into the dry riverbed, parking fifty meters in front of them. The landing ramp had descended less than halfway when Trace jumped out, smiling and waving frantically. 

“Ahsoka!” she shouted. “Ahsoka!” 

Ahsoka walked over to meet her. “I’m—” 

Trace slammed into her mid-sentence and wrapped her in a crushing hug, lifting her bodily from the ground. 

“It’s good to see you, Trace,” Ahsoka gasped.

“We were so _worried_ ,” Trace said, setting her down. “I mean, _I_ was and Rafa pretended she wasn’t.” 

“Look what the gundark dragged in,” Rafa drawled, swaggering down the ramp. “You look like you’ve been hauled over ten klicks of hyperspace.” 

“Hello, Rafa,” Ahsoka said. “You look distinguished, as always.” 

Despite the heat, Rafa was still wearing her ratty fur coat; sweat beaded on her forehead as she attempted to swipe her curls back from her face. “Don’t expect a hug. That’ll cost extra.” 

“It’s good to see you, too, Rafa,” Ahsoka said. 

Rafa turned quickly towards the Y-wing, but not before Ahsoka saw her smile. 

“So this is the ship you promised me,” Rafa said, all business again. “This junker _screams_ Republic. I’ll have to scrap it and sell it off piece by piece. I want another five thousand credits to tide me over.” 

“Rafa!” Trace scolded. “Where is Ahsoka going to get credits? She’s wanted!” 

They were technically Lux’s credits, but Ahsoka wasn’t going to squander his charity. Fortunately, Anakin and Obi-Wan had both thoroughly educated her on the fine art of haggling. “This Y-wing has a short-range PTAG PG-Seven-U primary threat analysis grid. That’s top-of-the-line military hardware. It’s worth at least four thousand credits alone— _if_ you know what you’re doing.” 

Rafa laid an offended hand over her heart. “You _know_ I know what I’m doing. Look, we’re taking a big risk by being your chauffeurs. Consider the extra five thousand as a deposit. You’ll get it back if nothing happens.” 

“Which means you’ll claim it the moment I so much as chip the paint.”

“Tell you what, I’ll just take the Y-wing if you let me have a bite of your handsome companion over there,” Rafa said. 

Rex had broken cover and was slowly advancing towards the _Silver Angel_. He stopped just behind Ahsoka and glanced at her for the introduction. 

Rafa whistled as she looked him up and down. “I should have enlisted. Ahsoka, you’ve been holding out on us.” 

“Don’t be gross, Rafa,” Ahsoka said coolly. “This is my friend, Captain Rex. Rex, this is Trace and Rafa Martez.” 

“Is he a clone?” Trace asked Ahsoka. 

“That’s correct, ma’am,” Rex responded. 

“I thought they just had numbers,” Trace said, still to Ahsoka. 

Ahsoka almost jumped to her friend’s defense, but then looked to Rex for his response first. 

“We were assigned numbers at birth,” Rex explained, “but our names are something we chose for ourselves or our brothers gave us.” 

“Oh, okay,” Trace said. “Nice to meet you, Rex.” She shook his hand. “Any friend of Ahsoka’s is a friend of mine.” 

“I’ll offer you two thousand credits,” Ahsoka told Rafa. 

“Four thousand,” Rafa fired back. 

“Two thousand. You owe me.” 

“The Pykes are still hunting us!”

“If it weren’t for me, you and Trace would be still be alive in the Pykes’ dungeon—and _not_ in a good way.” Ahsoka crossed her arms. “Three thousand credits.” 

Rafa scowled. “You Jedi are cheap barves, but I’m feeling sorry for you. Three thousand it is.” 

Ahsoka counted out credits chips and shook Rafa’s hand, pressing the ingots into her palm. 

Rafa blew Rex a kiss and walked back up the ramp. “Let’s go! You said it was urgent.” 

“Just ignore her,” Trace told Rex. “She’s like that with everyone.” 

“I won’t take it personally, ma’am,” Rex said. “Are you the captain?” 

Trace beamed and swept her arm towards the freighter. “This is my ship—the _Silver Angel_. I built it myself. I can show you around once we get in the air.” 

Ahsoka and Rex returned to the Y-wing to grab their packs—Rex carried two; the second for his armor—and returned to the _Angel_. Since Ahsoka had last seen the ship, Trace had upgraded the shield generator, enhanced the engines, and mounted two additional aft guns. The loose wiring in the cargo bay had finally been tucked behind the appropriate panels and the ramp controls had been scrubbed free of grease. 

“She’s really shaping up,” Ahsoka told Trace as they settled into the cockpit.

“Well, I followed your advice and got a real star pilot’s license,” Trace said. “Since then, we’ve been staying out of sight by transporting freight in the Outer Rim. It’s _amazing_ and—” 

“The pay is steady,” Rafa interjected. 

“—it’s been so awesome hanging out with the other pilots and listening to all their stories,” Trace finished. “Their mouths are bigger than Rafa’s.” 

“Please. I’m a better liar than _any_ of them,” Rafa said, “and better-looking.” She twisted around to leer at Rex, who had taken the chair behind Trace. “So there are millions of you? And you all look the same? Have the same ... workout regimen?” 

“Clones who don’t meet the GAR physical standards are confined to base until they can pass,” Rex said, straight-faced, “except because of extreme injury. In that case, clones are redirected to roles outside of active combat.” 

Rafa sighed dramatically. “I see now. You’re cute, but you’re too serious. Our love would be brief and kind of boring.” 

She turned back around. Rex glanced at Ahsoka, confusion writ on his face. Ahsoka rolled her eyes. 

Trace released the docking clamps, retracted the legs, and boosted the engines. “Here we go!” 

The _Silver Angel_ zipped out of the gully and angled straight for the sky; Ahsoka used the Force to hold herself in place. Flames flickered around the viewport as they breached the atmosphere and entered Onderonian space. Two _Venator_ -class cruisers—Ahsoka almost thought of them as _Jedi_ cruisers, as _friends_ —were silhouetted against the blackness, the familiar red paint scrubbed off the hangar doors. 

“Imperial star destroyer _Superior_ to incoming vessel, state your purpose,” a clone’s voice said through the transponder.

Trace pressed down on the comms. “Freighter _Solar Flair_ transporting bacta on a priority shipment to Kashyyyk. Four crew.” 

“Stand by while we scan you.” 

Ahsoka instinctively held her breath. 

“ _Solar Flair_ , you are all clear,” the _Superior_ announced. “Safe travels.” 

As the _Silver Angel_ cruised past the star destroyers, Trace wisely kept the ship’s belly to the bridge to prevent anyone from getting a visual on the cockpit. After the _Silver Angel_ had put sufficient space between itself and the destroyers, Trace engaged the hyperdrive, throwing them back into their seats. As the stars blurred around them, she said, “We should arrive in about three standard hours. I don’t know if you saw, but we _are_ actually carrying bacta, so we should have no problem landing in Kachirho.” 

“Bacta is restricted to GAR and medical craft only,” Rex said. “There’s a galaxy-wide shortage.” 

“Well, maybe while we were coming up with schemes to get you off Onderon, we so _happened_ to spot an unattended load on Boz Pity that _happened_ to attach itself to our exterior magnet as we flew by,” Rafa said smugly, propping her boots up on the control panel.

Ahsoka had heard enough. “So how big is the bounty on your heads now?” 

“I think about two thousand credits each, which is honestly _so_ insulting. The bacta back there is worth at least ten.” 

“But—”

Rafa held up a heavily bejeweled hand. “No buts! Do you want to lecture me about the law or do you want to attract the least attention possible when we land on Kashyyyk?” 

From between clenched teeth, Ahsoka said, “I hope you enjoy massive profits from your completely legitimate cargo.” 

“We will,” Trace said brightly. “The Imperials already bought it—and for twice as much as the market price! Can you believe that?” 

“Yes!” Ahsoka exclaimed. “Trace, Kashyyyk is a _warzone_.” 

“Good,” Rafa said. “Armies are sloppy. There’s always good stuff lying around. While you’re planetside, grab me a few thermal detonators. We can turn a huge profit on them in the Outer Rim.” 

Ahsoka could feel her brain cells evaporating. “I am not stealing thermal detonators.” 

“I’d forgive however much you stole from how much you owe me. You can’t have _that_ many credits.” 

“I thought these were your friends,” Rex muttered. 

“We are,” Trace said. She shoved her sister’s feet off the dashboard. “Knock it off, Rafa.” 

“What?” Rafa demanded. “We’re just talking business here.” 

“It feels like you sorted out the issue with the _Angel’s_ forward thrusters,” Ahsoka said to Trace. 

“It was a tough fix,” Trace said, grinning. “Rafa had to grease me up so I could wiggle through the conduits like a swamp slug.” 

“I didn’t get it out of my nails for weeks,” Rafa muttered, checking her hands as if to make sure she removed it all. 

“Is there anything I can do to help out?” Ahsoka asked. 

“Yes, actually.” Trace reached up and flipped a few switches. “That wasn’t exactly a smooth jump to hyperspace. Can you check the inertial compensator? The controls are under the red hatch on the starboard side of the cargo bay. Toolkit should be nearby.” 

“No problem.” 

Rex made to follow her, but Rafa yanked him back into his seat. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re the first clone I’ve ever met and I have some questions.” 

Ahsoka waved him goodbye. He shot her an aggrieved expression of utter betrayal. 

The cargo bay was a mess. Four crates of bacta were haphazardly piled against the aft bulkhead—likely as a result of Trace’s fancy maneuvering. The magnetized toolkit, however, was stuck to the cargo floor beneath the panel Trace had described. Ahsoka snapped on the welding mask and began her inspection. 

Nearly half an hour later, she could confirm the jolt she had felt upon entry to hyperspace was due to the inertial compensator not completely reducing the _Silver Angel’s_ in-flight motion. Experienced pilots—Anakin and Ahsoka included—often dialed their compensators back so they could feel how the ship was handling, but in this case, the issue was because Trace had salvaged her compensator from a much smaller craft. 

The most effective solution would be to temporarily reroute power from a non-essential function—say, illumination or climate control. Shivering in the dark was not a pleasant way to travel the stars, but it beat being liquefied by g-forces during rapid acceleration. 

If the _Angel_ had been any other ship, Ahsoka would have finished in a few minutes, but the _Angel_ was actually twelve different ships welded together. Locating the wiring for the control would be challenging, but not beyond Ahsoka’s considerable skills. 

Maintenance was always something she and Anakin had done together. Between engagements, they would pass hours on the hangar deck, fixing up the _Twilight_ or tinkering with their starfighters. It had been their time to reconnect and take stock, and for Anakin to teach. They would discuss the nature of the Force or review their last battle or rag on Obi-Wan or merely work in silence and enjoy each other’s company. If Ahsoka let her exhaustion carry her away for a moment too long, she thought she could sense him at her side, guiding her hand through the repairs. 

The cockpit door slid open and Ahsoka caught snatches of Rafa and Rex’s raised voices before Trace shut it behind her. 

“Did you come out here to escape?” Ahsoka asked her. 

“Rafa eats guys like Rex for breakfast,” Trace answered, hurrying away as if she were afraid the cockpit door would explode behind her. “He’s wound pretty tight.” 

“Clones don’t get a life outside the army.” 

“Neither do Jedi, but you turned out alright.” 

Ahsoka pulled out the last screw, removed the panel from the wall, and set it against the bulkhead. “That was because of my master.” 

“Your ‘big brother’, huh? ‘Skywalker Academy’?” 

“Yeah. He wasn’t raised at the Jedi Temple, so he wanted to make sure I could survive if I ever found myself on the outside. He was always looking out for me, even when I didn’t realize it.” She swallowed sudden tears, glad her eyes were hidden by the welding mask. “We were close.” 

“Are we going to rescue him?”

Ahsoka froze mid-wrench. “...No. He’s dead.” 

“I’m sorry.” Trace bit her lip. “I tried contacting you when I heard about the Jedi plot.” 

“I had to destroy my comlink.” How many beings had reached out to her, only to receive cold silence? Ahsoka told herself it was better that way; there were fewer chances her survival would be discovered. Curious, she asked, “Did you actually believe that the Jedi tried to kill the Chancellor?” 

“No!” Trace exclaimed. “I mean, I know Jedi aren’t perfect, but I don’t think you would launch a coup—and they didn’t deserve to be exterminated like that. That’s ... evil.” 

“The emperor _is_ evil,” Ahsoka said, flipping up her welding mask. “He’s a Sith—a dark Jedi. His only goal is to make the galaxy kneel before him and now that the Jedi are gone, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.” 

“But not while you can help it?” Trace suggested, smiling faintly. 

“That’s the plan. I’m not sure how well it’s going yet.” Ahsoka rooted through the toolkit until she found the correct wrench. “Get back to me in a few weeks.” 

“You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s a good first step.” 

“I got lucky,” Ahsoka admitted. “Really, really lucky, a million times over.” She sighed. “Luck runs out, though.” 

“That’s not true,” Trace said. “Rafa’s proof of that.” 

“Good point.” Ahsoka scraped the excess wire out of the paneling and used her penlight to peer into the conduit. The thick inertial coil was just out of reach. Ahsoka flattened her hand and shoved it into the narrow space. 

“Anyway, I thought Jedi didn’t believe in luck.”

Ahsoka had said almost those exact words to Anakin, a lifetime ago. _Good thing I taught you otherwise._ “I’m not a Jedi. I think. That’s another thing you should ask me about in a few weeks.” 

“Sounds like you need time more than anything,” Trace said. 

Ahsoka gave up on reaching the cord herself and used the Force to move it the final few millimeters into her hand. “That’s the one thing I don’t have right now.” 

“What about after Kashyyyk?”

“If anything, I’ll probably have even less.”

“You can’t keep running and fighting for the rest of your life,” Trace said. Ahsoka frowned and was about to respond, but Trace added, “No, wait—I’m not saying to give up. I believe you. If you say the Emperor is an evil Sith, he should be strung up by his guts and left to kriffing _rot_ —I mean, if the Jedi do that kind of thing.” 

Ahsoka shrugged. Anakin had killed Dooku, and Obi-Wan had taken down Grievous and cut Maul in half. In her opinion, it was high time for her lineage to continue its proud tradition of offing Sith lords. Maul would be no exception, but he was the lesser of two evils—or three, with the sudden appearance of Darth Vader—currently terrorizing the galaxy. 

Trace rested a hand on her shoulder. “What I meant was that you don’t need to do this alone.” 

Lux had said those same words when they had fought over Ahsoka’s decision to go to Kashyyyk. She had contacted him just before taking off for her rendezvous with the _Silver Angel_. 

“You’re trusting a clone on an _elite team of assassins_ , who are _hunting_ Jedi,” Lux had said, his voice distorted but anguished as it floated out of the holo. “I don’t care how good his intel is. It’s too dangerous.” 

“It’s the only lead I have,” Ahsoka had reminded him. 

“Just be patient,” Lux had said. “The resistance is forming as we speak—dozens of worlds, all joining together—” 

“The surviving Jedi can’t be patient,” she had retorted, “and neither can any clones who didn’t receive the order. They’re being hunted like animals by the same laws they swore to uphold. Echo said there are lives at stake. I can’t ignore that.” 

“It’s reckless to rush off alone.” 

“I have Rex.”

“You know what I mean, Ahsoka!” Lux had exclaimed. “Until _yesterday_ , Kachirho was a battlefield! You should wait until we can provide you with a ship, backup—” 

“I can’t turn my back on anyone who needs me.”

His face had contorted in pain. “What if _I_ need you?” 

Ahsoka had turned him down gently, but the raw desperation in his voice had hurt. She didn’t know when—or if—she would see him again. And who knew when she would be separated from Trace? Or Rex? How was the galaxy both small enough for the Empire to find her at every turn and large enough to tear her from her friends forever? 

“I’m not doing it alone,” Ahsoka told Trace, forcing a smile. “I called you, didn’t I?” 

“Hey, I can do more than just give you a ride,” Trace replied. “Rafa might whine and bluster, but the _Silver Angel_ is mine. Working on a freighter would give you a good cover for traveling the galaxy.” Trace propped her elbow against the wall beside Ahsoka. There was something very Rafa-like about that movement. “And I’m not bad company.” 

“You just want a dedicated mechanic,” Ahsoka teased. 

“Or someone to gang up on my sister with.” 

“And a bodyguard.” 

“I can hold my own,” Trace protested, boxing at the air. “See? I’m not totally defenseless.” Her feet skipped across the floor. “I’ve got _moves_.” 

Ahsoka snorted in amusement. 

“The point is,” Trace continued, “wherever you’re going—whatever you’re doing—it’s what’s right. I want to help.” 

“I can put you in touch with a few senators that are organizing a resistance movement,” Ahsoka suggested. “They’ll be desperate for good pilots.” 

“I don’t care about senators. I want to help _you_.” 

Trace was so close that Ahsoka could count the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose like stars. Trace must have visited a sunny planet recently, because there were many more of them than Ahsoka remembered. Trace’s hand moved from Ahsoka’s shoulder to her waist, pulling her close. 

_Oh._

The door to the cockpit slid open and Rex stomped into the cargo bay. Trace jumped aside, awkwardly raising her hand into her hair as if she were fixing it. Ahsoka nearly yanked the artificial gravity cable out of its casing. 

Ahsoka cleared her throat and asked, “Do you need reinforcements?” 

“Retreat was the only option,” Rex said. He glanced around the hold. “This place is a mess. Loose cargo needs to be restrained during in-flight maneuvers.” 

“Sorry!” Trace squeaked. “We, uh, busted our magnetic panels and we haven’t been able to afford a new set.” 

Rex righted the crates and began strapping them down with the physical restraints bolted to the wall, muttering darkly to himself. Trace was pointedly not meeting Ahsoka’s eyes. 

“What were you and Rafa talking about?” Ahsoka asked Rex, perhaps a little too casually. “I can’t imagine you have much in common.” 

“The implicit bias of clones working as enforcers in the predominantly non-human lower levels of Coruscant,” he said, as if he were reading from a script, “and how clones are extra-judicial non-citizens bred to uphold a totalitarian regime.” 

“Rafa wanted to be a lawyer,” Trace said. “She has a strong sense of justice, but these days, she uses it for all the wrong reasons. Did you argue with her?” 

“I can’t let her blame my brothers for something we couldn’t control,” Rex objected.

“Not a wise move. She needs the last word.” 

“I’d like to see her try.” His work complete, he sat with his back to one of the crates and closed his eyes, his hands resting on his blasters. 

A few minutes later, Trace whispered, “He’s just going to fall asleep like that?” 

Ahsoka checked in the Force. “He already has.” 

She removed her cloak and draped it over his shoulders. It occurred to her that she had barely slept for the last few days, but they would be arriving on Kashyyyk in a standard hour, so there was nothing she could do except ignore her heavy eyelids. 

She turned to Trace. “Did you want to hear about the repairs?” 

“Yes,” she said. “Right. Of course.” 

“It’s a bigger job that I anticipated.” Ahsoka explained the issue with the compensator sizes, concluding with, “Help me find the port for this wire. That will probably fix things.” 

“It’s under the floor.” Trace knelt down and unscrewed the bolts, then pulled the panel aside and jumped into the cavity. 

“Trace,” Ahsoka called. 

Trace stuck her head outside of the ship, rested her chin on her crossed arms. 

“The Jedi Order has rules against ... attachment.” Ahsoka fumbled through her next few words, finally saying, “But, like I said, I don’t know if I’m a Jedi. Get back to me about it.” 

Trace’s jaw dropped. Hesitantly, she said, “You think we’ll have time for that?” 

“Not now,” Ahsoka admitted, “but maybe someday.” 

Her face split into a sudden, brilliant smile. “Then let’s stay alive until then.” 

_Let’s stay alive._

It was all they could hope for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this house we love and support the Martez sisters and reincorporate them into the narrative ASAP.


	8. Stormtroopers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter TW:** child death, mention of suicide

**Kachirho, Kashyyyk  
40.0 hours after Order 66**

Gree had once lovingly described Kashyyyk as a tropical deathtrap, where each descending layer of the impenetrable canopy was deadlier than the last and the native trees—each taller than a Coruscanti skyscraper—concealed a lethal host of predators, parasites, and flesh-eating plants. Rex enthusiastically avoided all his xenobiologist brother’s obsessions, but he would personally fight the worst Kashyyyk had to offer if it meant seeing Echo again. 

Rex was surprised as the _Silver Angel_ broke through Kashyyyk’s atmosphere and began coasting over a tropical sea dotted with sheer-sided islands. Then, the Wookiee city came into view, revealing a sunny beachhead flanked by five enormous trees. Buildings—not apex predators—clung to their trunks like buzzdroids on a starfighter, and the ground was grass and turf, not a carpet of carnivorous vegetation. As relieved as he was, Rex hoped Kachirho had not disappointed Gree too badly. 

Signs of the recent battle were obvious even from the air; Kachirho’s sand and shallows were littered with thousands of deactivated droids and Separatist vehicles. Green-armored clones handled the cleanup, lugging battle droids in piles to be picked up or hooking NR-99s behind AT-TEs to be dragged off for scrap. LAAT/is circled overhead, carrying the junked Separatist vehicles towards the _Venator_ parked in a field behind Kachirho. Rex didn’t see any dead clones, but the unmistakable thick smoke of an incinerator wafting downwind meant the 41st Elite had already seen to their own. 

Rex’s heart stirred with pride. The galaxy might have been falling apart, but the GAR—or whatever it was these days—was still on the job. 

Captain Martez parked the _Silver Angel_ on a landing platform jutting from the leftmost tree. Hers was one of the last remaining pads; the others were crammed with civilian ships in various stages of disrepair. 

“Who owns those ships?” Rex asked Captain Martez. 

“They look like Outer Rim salvagers,” she said. “They’re probably here to pick over the battlefield.” 

“You can turn a good profit on battle droid parts,” Rafa said. She glanced at Commander Tano. “Are you sure—?” 

“Very sure,” Commander Tano said. “Stay with the ship. We don’t know how fast we’ll need to leave.” 

After several years of serving alongside her and General Skywalker, Rex suspected it their departure from Kashyyyk would be conducted at light speed. He was relieved to see the other ships, though; he had been worried that his Togruta commander would stand out among the clones and Wookiees. 

“Here comes the import officer,” Captain Martez said, pointing to a portly Devaronian waddling across the landing platform. Two shinies trailed behind, a repulsorsled floating between them. 

Rafa licked her thumbs and slicked back her eyebrows. “It’s show time.” 

“Be careful,” Commander Tano warned. 

“Well, now that I know how soft clones are under that scary armor, I’m not worried at all.” Rafa squeezed Rex’s shoulder in parting. 

Clones were always touching; Rex didn’t realize how much he had missed it until Rafa had taken to bumping him at every opportunity. _Cool it, soldier._

Commander Tano checked her datapad. “I turned on our locator. It looks like Echo is somewhere on the ground.” 

“I’ll finish up quickly,” Rex promised. He wrapped his keffiyeh around his head and pulled the scarf over his nose, and readjusted the folds of his tunic to conceal his DC-17s. He wore his blacks beneath his clothes; they offered resistance to blasters and blades. Rex trusted Echo, but didn’t know what or who else they would encounter; Rex had not forgotten about the Bad Batch or Kashyyyk’s multitude of predators. 

He slid down the ladder to the cargo bay, where he was immediately struck with a wall of hot, earthy air flowing in from the open doors. Rafa was already slouched against the ramp struts, laughing as she bantered with the port master. Rex lifted the first crate of bacta and walked onto the platform, studying the clones as he went. It was hard to tell when helmeted clones were bored, but Rex’s practiced eye knew these shinies were seconds from breaking parade rest. Dock duty was the equivalent of banishment from the coveted front lines. 

“ _What_?” Rafa snapped, her voice cracking through the humid air. Rex nearly dropped the bacta as he automatically reached for his blasters, but managed to fumble the crate onto the repulsorsled before the clones noticed. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s orders from the Imperial Army,” groveled the port master. “I don’t have any control over the—” 

“Look, I brought the Imps their precious bacta—at more than a fair price, I might add,” Rafa said, her hands on her hips as she loomed over him. “You _know_ I’m on your side. There’s no reason to put a grav-lock on my ship!” 

“It’s orders from the Imperial Army,” the port master repeated. “There are still Jedi loose on the planet!” He turned to the clones. “Tell her!” 

“Any ships that do not comply with the command will be detained and searched,” one of the 41st clones dutifully explained. 

“You see?” the Devaronian asked Rafa. “It’s out of my control. I’m sorry.” 

Rafa snatched the datapad from his hands, signed something, and slammed it into his chest. “If my ship is locked one _minute_ longer than it needs to be, I’m reporting this to the freighter’s guild.” She glanced at Rex, who was still frozen beside the repulsorsled, then stomped back into _Angel_. “Wait until I tell the rest of my crew about this!” 

Rex took that to mean Rafa would warn Commander Tano about the grav-lock and continued unloading the bacta, scouting the platform as he worked. The port master returned to his booth at the entrance to the landing platform. The booth did not seem armored or reinforced, but it was guarded by four 41st Elite. Rex even looked over the edge of the platform; he had learned to consider all exits when working with Jedi. It was a two-hundred-meter plunge into the lagoon and Rex fervently hoped it would not come to that. 

After the clones and bacta had departed, Rex stepped into the _Silver Angel_ and waved Commander Tano forward. They passed the guards without comment and continued onto a wide avenue that spiraled down the tree. It seemed to be shaped out of the trunk itself, without any sign it had been carved or cut. The empty houses and shops lining the treed side of the street had been made in the same manner, although the roofs and doors were clearly additions. 

Although the faint sounds of engines and voices floated up from the lower levels, Kachirho itself seemed to be deserted. The windows were dark, the doorways nailed shut; as far as Rex could tell, he and Commander Tano were the only living beings in sight—a fact that made him very uneasy. 

“Where are the Wookiees?” he asked. 

“I can’t sense anyone inside the houses,” Commander Tano responded. “Perhaps they were evacuated before the battle.” She cocked her head. “There’s a speeder coming towards us. Move!” 

Rex and Commander Tano ducked into an alley as the hum of an approaching engine grew louder. 

“...camps until this is over,” a clone was saying as the skiff passed.

“Camps or not, they’re still getting better grub than us,” his brother complained.

“I’m not a fan of this Empire either, but Gree...”

“Different boss, same soldiers,” Commander Tano remarked after the skiff had disappeared around the bend.

“Same old boys,” Rex agreed, smiling. The chips clearly hadn’t destroyed their minds the way they had Tup’s—if his chip was what had actually killed him, anyway. As with Fives, Rex suspected the Kaminoans or the Emperor were the true culprits in Tup’s death. 

“We should steal their armor,” she suggested. “We might blend in better.” 

“ _You_ won’t.”

“You could be escorting me to the brig.”

“Because that worked so well last time.”

Commander Tano briefly closed her eyes. “They’ve stopped twenty meters down. Let’s see what they’re doing.” 

They edged closer until Rex heard the distinctive _clack_ of colliding plastoid. He took cover behind a boarded-up shop and peered around the corner. 

This side of the tree was cast in shadow and the avenue was lit by floating orange globes. Beneath this sullen light, two 41st Elite were hauling dead clones out of an alley. They tossed the second body onto the skiff and the trooper’s body twisted as it fell, revealing a black line melted across his chestplate. Rex had seen similar wounds before—on Umbara. 

“Those are lightsaber marks,” Commander Tano murmured, shifting impatiently. “We know there are Jedi here. We should—” 

“Wait,” Rex said. “Something’s not right here.” 

The next body was not a clone; it was much too small, and it wore a bloodstained brown robe scorched by blaster fire. Commander Tano slowly lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. Rex glanced at her, painfully aware he could not give her anything but pity. 

The clones threw the child’s body atop the dead troopers. A lightsaber slid from his limp hand, clattering onto the walkway. One of the clones bent down to retrieve it. The Padawan suddenly gasped, his eyes popping open. 

Rex felt Commander Tano tense and seized her shoulders. “Commander, w—” 

“Let _go_ of me!” she snarled. “Let—” 

Rex clapped a hand over her mouth as the clone fired a round, point blank, through the Padawan’s skull. Rex pulled her back behind the shop. 

“Did you hear something?” one of the clones asked. 

“Go check it out.” 

Rex dragged Commander Tano around the far corner of the building, pressing his back hard against the wall. Commander Tano was trembling—from rage, grief, or shock, Rex couldn’t tell, but he couldn’t let her go as the slow tromp of boots approached their hiding place. He could feel Commander Tano’s heart hammering frantically against his chest—or maybe it was his own. 

The clone’s helmet mic clicked on less than a meter away. “There’s nothing here.” 

“This is the last of the Jedi scum,” his companion said. “Return to base.” 

Rex waited until he could no longer hear the skiff’s engine before releasing Commander Tano. She just sat there, her hollow blue eyes staring into the distance. 

“He wouldn’t have made it far with those wounds,” Rex said. 

“...I know.” She took a shaky breath and unhooked the datapad from his belt. “We shouldn’t keep Echo waiting.” 

Only a few drops of blood marked where the skiff had parked. Rex caught her staring and lightly chivvied her along. The first thing he had learned on campaign was not to look. 

They finally encountered more sentients at ground level. The Outer Rim scrap dealers had constructed a market along the main thoroughfare, hawking wrecked battle droids and precious metals pried from the scrapyard. Some were even selling armor, the green and white plastoid pockmarked with the fatal wounds of their previous owners. 

Rex had heard that some junkers harvested teeth, organs, and blood from dead clones to sell on the black market, although he had refused to believe it for his own peace of mind. The beings swarming over this impromptu bazaar certainly looked the type; with their piecemeal armor and prominently displayed blasters, they seemed more mercenary than trader. 

Squads of 41st Elite marched through in squads, their Deeces trained on the crowd. Rex kept himself between them and Commander Tano, trying to block them from her sight. 

Commander Tano stopped at a cantina tucked between two shops. “He’s in there.” 

“I’ll go first to make sure,” Rex said, taking her datapad. 

“Got it.”

One moment she was right next to him; the next she had vanished. Rex suppressed the automatic urge to look for her. He knew she would remain close. 

Unlike the buildings on the tree, the cantina had been constructed out of golden-hued wood. Rex didn’t have much faith in its durability if a firefight broke out, but the ferrocrete bar across from the door was more promising. The bar was small, by Wookiee standards, which meant it came up to Rex’s shoulders. Mirrors lined the ceiling above, reflecting the hairless scalp of the Aqualish bartender and the HoloNet blaring warrants for Jedi fugitives on several screens across the cantina. Only one of the patrons was watching; Rex could not see their face behind their cloak, but the angle of their hood, the black armor on their legs, and the locator pinging on Rex’s datapad were a dead giveaway. 

Rex slid into the booth and was met the gaze of his thinner reflection. 

“Echo...” Rex began. There were so many things he needed to say, so many words choked back by the sudden lump in his throat. 

Echo did not smile as he leveled his Deece with Rex’s heart. “My loyalties are with the Jedi and the Republic. If you feel the same way, you’ll do as I say. Let me see your face and put your blasters on the table.” 

Rex tugged the keffiyeh below his chin and unholstered his blasters as Echo dropped a holotransmitter onto the table between them. Palpatine’s cloaked head and shoulders appeared in miniature. “ _Execute Order Sixty-Six._ ”

Rex did not dare to even blink, and a moment later, Echo shut off the transmitter and leaned back in his seat. Rex took that as tacit permission to reclaim his DC-17s from the tabletop. 

“Sorry about that. I’m not sure how much the order controls us,” Echo explained. “I thought that would be a good test.” 

“When did you figure it out?” Rex asked. “The order, I mean.” 

“I didn’t,” Echo said. “I was deployed with a Jedi. The order triggered everyone else, but not ... not me.” 

“Which Jedi?” 

“General Secura,” Echo said. “The Bad Batch was on Felucia helping her track down Shu Mai. The order came. Hunter immediately redirected us to the general’s position. I thought we were going to ask her what was going on—you know, the _reasonable_ thing—but by the time we got there, she was already dead. Bly—” 

“No,” Rex said immediately, his heart lurching. “ _No._ ” 

“He’d shot General Secura so many times that I barely recognized her,” Echo whispered, his eyes unfocused. “I just—I had no idea what was going on. I thought he’d gone rogue. I tackled him, tried to get some binders on his wrists. Then Hunter took me aside and told me I was one bad move away from tried for treason for violating Order Sixty-Six. I thought ... I thought he was joking, but then Wrecker and Tech and Crosshair started saying the same thing and I realized something must have been controlling them.” He cleared his throat and his voice returned to its usual register. “I’d been looking into Fives’ death, so I put two and two together quickly enough to pretend I had received the order, too. A few hours later, I hacked the main GAR channel and added my message, hoping someone out there would hear it.” 

Rex was terrified to know, but he had to ask. “What happened to Bly?” 

“After I hit him, it was like he was coming out of a trance.” Echo swallowed. “He started _screaming_ , screaming like he was dying. It was the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life. He didn’t even sound human. His men carried him back to camp and he ... he ate his blaster not long after.” 

Rex lowered his head into his hands, his throat tight. _That could have been me._ If it had been ... well, maybe Bly had done the right thing. Recklessly, Rex wished the clones would stay brainwashed. Mindless killing machines would never experience horrific flashes of lucidity, or feel regret or guilt or shame. 

Perhaps the men would be able to justify it. The Jedi were military commanders, after all, and most of them would have been killed in active theaters. But the 501st had killed hundreds of Jedi, many of them noncombatants, many of them _children_. No amount of rationalization could ever set that right. 

“How are the other men taking it?” Rex asked. 

“I’ve only been with the Three-Twenty-Seventh and the Forty-First,” Echo said. “Star Corps was a real mess, especially after Bly ... ah, retired. Here on Kashyyyk, the Forty-First believes the order is real; General Yoda shortened Gree by a head before running.” 

Funny, how Rex’s command class had always joked about dying with their Jedi or because of their Jedi, but not like this— _never_ like this. At least Gree had had a faster and kinder death than poor Bly. 

“I was surprised that you survived,” Echo said. “I heard your ship went down with all hands.” 

“It did,” Rex said. “None of my men made it.” 

Echo’s face fell. “Jesse? Kix? Appo?” 

“Kix has been MIA for a few months now,” Rex admitted. “I buried Jesse with my own hands. I ... left Appo the Five-Oh-First. He was with Zeer on Coruscant.” 

Echo jerked his head towards the holoscreens above the bar. “The news is still looping through footage of the Jedi Temple. When I saw _my_ brothers had slotted the Padawans ... I guess part of me was glad most of you had already died.” 

“I know,” Rex said tiredly. “Believe me, Echo, I know.” 

Tentatively, Echo asked, “Did Commander Tano make it?” 

Rex would have known by now if Echo was under Order 66. It still felt like betrayal to say, “She’s with me.” 

As if on cue—maybe she had been listening through the Force—the doors slid open and Commander Tano walked in. She did not acknowledge them, but sat the booth behind Echo. Echo’s mouth twitched; Rex knew he was hiding a smile. 

“If I was a betting man, I would’ve bet on you, Commander,” Echo said. 

“Thanks, Echo,” she said. “What do you have?” 

“Well, a couple things.” Echo took Rex’s ’pad and plugged his dataspike into the port. “This is the list of Jedi MIAs. You would be surprised at how many escaped—Generals Yoda, Unduli, and Rancisis, and about five hundred Knights and Padawans. General Kenobi is officially KIA, but I heard—” 

“He’s dead,” Commander Tano interrupted. 

“Oh.” Echo handed Rex the datapad. “I saw General Skywalker was listed as KIA. I’m sorry.” 

“Did the clones recover a body?” she asked. 

“All it says is that he was confirmed dead on Coruscant.” 

Once again, Rex swallowed the bitter irony that his general—his fearless, reckless general—had not been killed by Separatists or a crashing starfighter or General Kenobi or his own rash plans, but by the men he had spent three years building into the best unit in the GAR. The 501st had absolute trust in their general, as he had had in them—right until the very end, it seemed. Even when Rex had had his blaster pointed at Commander Tano, she had been more confused than afraid; it hadn’t seemed to occur to her that he would actually hurt her. 

“Do you have leads on any of the survivors?” Rex asked. 

“Not on Jedi,” Echo said, “but there is something we might be able to do for our brothers.” 

“How many?” Rex asked, immediately thinking of Cody and the remaining half of the 501st. 

“Two Wolfpack companies,” Echo said. 

Two companies—288 men—was not much compared to the millions of brothers in active service, but as far as Rex knew, he and Echo were the only unaffected troops in the GAR. They had to start somewhere. “Which ones? I heard the Hundred-Fourth was split between Cato Nemoidia and Outer Rim rescue ops.” 

“A standard week ago, Wolffe and two of his companies were sent to assist flood relief efforts on the planet Sorgan,” Echo said. “Wolffe was marooned when his cruiser went to the Battle of Coruscant, where it was lost with all hands. Then, twelve hours before Order Sixty-Six, Wolffe missed his check-in with MilOps. They tried raising him a few times after that, but he never responded.” 

Rex did not want to hope. “Wolffe could be dead.” 

“I see two possibilities,” Echo said. “The first is the Wolfpack somehow knew about Order Sixty-Six and deserted. I doubt Wolffe would keep that to himself, but it’s worth considering. The second—the one I believe—is that the storms knocked out his communications array. Sorgan is an agricultural backwater; there aren't any starports on the whole planet. He would have a hard time reestablishing contact with MilOps—and I haven’t monitored any Imperial transmissions to or from Sorgan. The Wolfpack have probably been forgotten about in the transition.” 

“That’s a thin hope,” Commander Tano pointed out.

“But if I’m right, Wolffe and three hundred of his brothers don’t even know Order Sixty-Six happened,” Echo said. 

“Is Master Plo with them?” Commander Tano asked. 

“He was shot down over Cato Nemoidia,” Echo said. “His body was recovered at the crash site.” 

Rex could see just one of Commander Tano’s shoulders from behind the booth, but the way it suddenly hunched inward told him everything he needed to know. He glared at Echo, who winced. Rex didn’t know any other way Echo could have delivered the news, but surely there was one. 

“If Master Plo had been with them, the Empire would have made sure they got the transmission,” she said slowly. “He probably saved their lives.” 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Commander,” Echo said, “Wolffe’s boys are going to go full Jango when they find out.”

“I hope I’m there to see it,” Commander Tano said hotly.

“I assume you have a ship?”

“Yeah,” Rex said.

“Good hunting, then.” Echo stood. “I should go. The Batch will be looking for me.”

“You’re not coming?” Rex asked, surprised. 

“You and Commander Tano are already dead, as far as the Empire’s concerned,” Echo said. “I’d be a deserter.”

“You can’t stay here,” Rex said.

“You need someone on the inside,” Echo said. “You know how to contact me—and I won’t stay forever.” 

“Echo...” Rex trailed off, at a loss for words. He had said goodbye to Echo twice already. A third time— _now_ —felt like tearing his heart out of chest. 

“This is for our brothers,” Echo said. “For the Five-Oh-First.” 

Rex sighed. “You’re looking out for the unit better than I am.” 

“Then do me a favor and look after Commander Tano,” Echo said, smiling. “She can’t be grown in a tube.” 

Rex glanced around the bar and shot Echo a quick salute before pulling his keffiyeh back over his nose. “I’ll head out first.” 

The door whooshed open and four horribly familiar, black-armored clones swaggered into the bar. First came Hunter, his bucket held under one arm as he sniffed the air. The other three were helmeted, but Rex knew exactly who they were. 

Hunter turned towards Echo. “Found you.” 


	9. The Bad Batch

**Kachirho, Kashyyyk  
40.5 hours after Order 66**

Ahsoka used the Force rather than her eyes to study the Bad Batch. All four were relaxed—one was even bored—but Order 66 could kick in at any moment, transforming calm to fury in the blink of an eye. 

“Yeah, you found me,” Echo said from the booth behind her. His voice conveyed only acknowledgement, but Ahsoka sensed his nerves humming in the stale air. 

“Is this your lead on General Yoda?” the leader asked—Hunter, she remembered. 

“My lead already left,” Echo said. “This _chakaar_ was trying to sell me some replacement parts for my arm.” His boots scuffed against the floor as he stood. “I was just about to head back to base.” 

Ahsoka was impressed; unlike most clones she had known, Echo was a credible liar. 

“Wait a minute,” Hunter said. Ahsoka felt his attention shift to Rex. “Do I know you?” 

“When did you start hanging around junk dealers?” Echo asked Hunter. “He probably smells like every other womp rat in this skughole.” 

“I never forget a person’s smell,” Hunter said, undeterred. “Show me your face. I just want to know if I’m right.” 

“No harm if he’s not,” drawled the bored clone—Crosshair, Ahsoka thought, from Rex’s description. “Not unless you’re wanted, anyway.” 

The other clones chuckled at Crosshair’s joke. 

“He’s not important,” Echo told the Bad Batch. “We should focus on catching the Jedi traitors.” 

Ahsoka knew Echo was acting, but his tone perfectly matched the chilling, impersonal voice the 332nd had used while hunting her through their cruiser. 

“We are,” Hunter said. “Jedi could be using criminals to smuggle them off-world—criminals like your junk dealer friend.” 

Ahsoka slowly reached for her _beskad_ as needle-sharp adrenaline prickled up her spine. The Bad Batch was not expecting a Jedi; she could either have the first attack or leave the cantina. The first option would be risky when faced with four ARC-level troopers and the second would entail abandoning Rex and Echo—something she would not do. 

“Hunter, listen,” Echo said suddenly. “We both know Ninety-Nine regularly operates outside the chain of command. Our orders have always had room for interpretation.” 

Ahsoka shifted in her booth, battling the urge to turn around. _What is he doing?_

“I do not understand what you mean, IF-Five,” said Tech. “The Bad Batch has always followed the spirit of our orders if not the letter.” 

“Not when we know they’re wrong,” Echo said. “Think about Order Sixty-Six. Do we really think every single Jedi—all the way down to the youngest Padawan—tried to kill the Emperor?” 

“Yes.” Hunter’s cold answer left no room for equivocation. 

“You’re skirting close to treason, IF-Five,” Crosshair warned. 

“If the Republic knew even half the things we’ve done, we’d have been court-martialed ages ago,” Echo said. “We might think it’s treason now, but if we—” 

“Well, we serve the Empire now,” Wrecker interrupted. “The orders are different. We don’t need to think about them.” 

“Empire, Republic—it makes no difference,” Echo insisted, his voice charged with desperation. Ahsoka’s heart went out to him. “The orders are still coming from the same place. We cannot accept them unconditionally, just as we didn’t before the Separatists surrendered.” 

Ahsoka felt the Bad Batch move as one, their rifles pointing at Rex and Echo. 

“Easy,” Hunter said. “If you say anything else, I’ll have to send you to be decommissioned, and I don’t want to do that. Let’s just see your companion’s face and then we can forget this conversation ever happened.” 

Echo had tried diplomacy and Hunter was obstinate in his demands; Ahsoka saw no other ways out, and from the resignation emanating from Echo and Rex, they felt the same way. She took a deep breath and waved her hand across her chest. From across the room, a table was ripped out from beneath three of the cantina’s patrons and hammered into Wrecker and Tech, knocking them prone. 

Everyone’s blasters were out in a heartbeat; Ahsoka whirled around, _beskad_ already up as she jumped in front of the clones to block Crosshair’s opening barrage as she would with a lightsaber. Instead of deflecting, the saber absorbed the sniper bolts, the power behind them nearly ripping the _beskad_ from her hands. Wrecker wrenched a table off the floor and threw it at her, but she redirected it with the Force into the wall to her left as the bartender and patrons fled for the exit. 

“She’s a Jedi!” Tech shouted. 

The Bad Batch’s focus simultaneously snapped onto Ahsoka, their Force signatures wrenched from surprise to furious. There was no confusion, as she had sensed from the 332nd when they had received Order 66. As one, the Bad Batch moved towards her, the Force swirling murderously around their black armor. 

Echo and Rex drew their blasters, firing on the other clones. Tech pressed a button on his gauntlet and a blue shield bloomed over his head and chest. Echo dipped under Tech’s shield and wrapped his arms around the smaller clone’s knees, tripping him. Ahsoka swung the heavy _beskad_ like a cudgel, slamming it into Crosshair’s rifle hard enough to crack the barrel, sending slivers of metal skittering across the cantina floor. Crosshair dropped his broken rifle and drew his sidearm, but Rex seized his arm and forced it backward with an audible crack. Ahsoka ducked under Wrecker’s fists and kicked Crosshair in the chin, knocking the helmet off his head. Hunter came up behind them, vibroblade in hand; Ahsoka parried his first slash. Then, Rex released Crosshair to hit Hunter low and hard. They fell to the floor, fighting for Hunter’s fallen knife. 

The Force spat a warning and Ahsoka lunged behind a table, pulling it down to cover her from Crosshair’s fire as she somersaulted into a landing. Two gloved hands grabbed the edges of her table and lifted it from the floor. Ahsoka scooted half a meter back before she hit the wall and Wrecker brought the table down hard at her torso. She dropped her _beskad_ and caught the table edge millimeters from her chest. Wrecker was _powerful_ ; she had to augment her natural strength with the Force as she pushed upward with all her might. The table flew upward, launching Wrecker into the ceiling hard enough to shake the dust from the rafters. 

Two of Crosshair’s shots immediately whizzed past Ahsoka’s head and she dropped low, dodging his bolts by millimeters as she closed the distance between them. Tech suddenly stepped in front of her, one blaster leveled at her face and the other pointing at Echo and Rex, who were trading blows with Hunter on the floor. Ahsoka pushed one blaster off-target with the Force and pulled the other to her hand, crushing it in her palm. Then, she seized his shoulders, ready to throw him against the wall, but Tech hit another button on his gauntlet and searing arcs of white-hot electricity surged up her arm. Her back arched in pain as she screamed, struggling to tear herself free, but the current had her rooted to the floor and Crosshair was aiming at her again—

Rex came out of nowhere, stabbing a vibroblade into Tech’s back. Tech fell, releasing Ahsoka, who evaded Wrecker’s lunge and reflexively aimed a kick at his kidneys. Her boot bounced off Wrecker’s cuirass; the clone didn’t even seem to notice as he grabbed Rex and threw him bodily at Echo. Hunter—visibly battered, bloodied, and winded—leaned against the wall to steady himself as he shot twice at Ahsoka. She flipped behind the bar, crossing her arms over her head as Hunter’s volley shattered the bottles above her head, showering her in glass and alcohol. 

“Gotcha,” Crosshair muttered. He threw two silvery discs into air and fired once. A blue bolt caromed between the discs before bouncing off the overhead mirror and striking Ahsoka’s lower back. Her vision burst with stars from the agony of it, but she drew on the Force to shut away the worst of it. She was not safe yet, nor was she finished. Ahsoka waved her shaking hand over the broken glass and made it rise with her. Silently hoping Rex and Echo were still prone, she hurled the shards over the bar. 

Tech screeched.

Ahsoka vaulted over the countertop, her heel coming down hard on Crosshair’s helmet. He dropped, but so did she, her foot white-hot with pain. Tech was sprawled on the floor beside her, blood seeping from between the fingers splayed over his face. Wrecker seized her ankle in a crushing grip and threw her towards the booths, over the heads of both Hunter and Rex. Ahsoka twisted in midair, landing on the tabletop with her feet flat against the wall. 

Wrecker rushed towards her, batting Echo aside almost as an afterthought. Ahsoka arrested Echo’s fall, then propelled herself off the wall, calling her fallen _beskad_ to her hand as she leapt towards Wrecker. The saber screamed as Ahsoka carved a ragged line across his breastplate, splitting the plastoid and biting into the muscle, fat, and bone beneath. Ahsoka slipped under Wrecker’s arm and launched herself off the table, barely parrying Hunter’s knife as she landed. 

She flipped onto the bar top, using the Force to redirect the chair Wrecker threw at her into Crosshair, who had taken aim at Echo. Echo fired a stun round at Wrecker, hitting him in the leg, but Wrecker did not seem to notice, just as he didn’t seem to notice the blood splashing from his stomach. Wrecker grabbed another table, smashing it into Echo’s chest. Rex—blood streaming from a cut over his eye—pushed himself to his feet, grabbed one of his pistols off the ground, and aimed at Hunter. Crosshair jumped him from behind, tripping him. A blade gleamed in Crosshair’s hand. Ahsoka saw Wrecker coming, saw Crosshair’s blade, and made a choice, hurling her _beskad_ with both hands. The saber sank deep into Crosshair’s armor, just under his ribs, and the sniper collapsed. 

Wrecker slammed into her with the force of a star. His hands tightened around her throat as he lifted her up, then smashed her head into the ferrocrete countertop. The Force cushioned Ahsoka just enough to prevent him from killing her outright. A second strike, though—

Desperately, she grasped his head with both hands, channeling her anger and fear and pain through her palms. Wrecker’s helmet cracked all at once, the sharp edges cutting into his face. He dropped her, howling like a wounded krayt dragon as blood wept from his eyes and ears. He lashed out, striking Ahsoka in the ribs. She hit the far wall, her head snapping back and the breath sawing raggedly out of her throat. 

She staggered forward, but Hunter wrestled her into a headlock, his forearm like a durasteel bar across her burning throat. Ahsoka punched blindly, feeling something break under her fingers. She used the Force to pull Hunter with her as she twisted forward and smashed him headfirst into the floor. Hunter’s grip relaxed as he slumped forward, blood pooling under his hair. 

Wrecker’s bellow warned her milliseconds before he struck. His face was a bloody mess, the whites of his eyes brilliant scarlet as he punched tables, walls, and chairs with equal abandon. 

“Come on!” Echo shouted from the doorway. Ahsoka yanked the _beskad_ out of Crosshair’s ribs and hobbled out, Rex close behind her with their datapad. They stopped in the alleyway, listening to Wrecker’s rampage. 

“I don’t know what will stop him,” Ahsoka wheezed, her free hand held protectively over her ribs. 

Echo armed a thermal detonator and tossed it into the cantina. “That should slow him down. This way!” 

The cantina exploded behind them as they dragged themselves behind the shops, startling some small can-cells from a trash bin. Around the corner, squad of 41st clones rushed towards the commotion. Seconds later, the alarm klaxon began to wail. 

Ahsoka lifted her comlink to her mouth, only to find it had been smashed in the fight. Rex handed his over immediately. 

“Ashla to _Angel_ ,” she croaked. “Ashla to _Angel_.” 

“We read, Ashla,” Trace’s voice said. “Are we going home?” 

“ _Very_ soon.” 

“No can do, Ashla,” Rafa said. “We’ve still got the parking brake on.” 

_The kriffing grav lock!_ “Understood. We’ll deal with it.” 

Ahsoka’s sudden anger ripped away her tenuous control and she was immediately assailed with everything she had been pushing back. Her back, heel, and ribs throbbed, and her breath came in agonized whistles from her crushed throat. She could barely hear or see on her right side and her tongue was coated in the coppery, salty taste of blood. 

Neither Rex nor Echo looked any better. Echo’s hair was matted with blood; more dripped from the gap between his breastplate and spaulder. A nasty cut ran parallel to Rex’s hairline and his sleeve was darkened from blaster fire. As Rex stepped out to glance around the corner, Ahsoka noted that, first, he was limping and, secondly, that Hunter’s knife was sticking out of his shoulder. 

“Rex,” she wheezed, pointing. “You have a ... there’s a ...” 

Almost absently, he reached behind his back and felt around until he touched the hilt. “Oh. When did that get there?” 

“I have bacta,” Echo said, opening one of his belt pouches. After a quick examination, he said, “It’s not deep.” 

“Take it out,” Rex ordered, already shucking his tunic. 

“Painkillers first.” Echo jabbed Rex in the arm with a hypospray. Ahsoka offered her arm, too, barely noticing the prick. 

As Echo removed Hunter’s knife, Ahsoka looked despairingly up towards the landing platform perched in the crown of the towering wroshyr tree. She had already been exhausted from several sleepless days. Fresh wounds were the last thing she needed, especially since the base had been alerted to their presence. A standard battalion held 576 clones. She suspected they would need to cut through every last one to escape. 

“You should go,” Rex told Echo as Echo smoothed the bacta patch over Rex’s shoulder. “You could tell the Empire we attacked you.” 

“You won’t make it your ship like this,” Echo said. “You’ll need my help.” 

Rex silently appealed to Ahsoka for backup. 

“It’s his choice,” she said. 

“This won’t be a repeat of the Citadel,” Rex growled. 

“Well,” Echo said, “you can only lose your legs once.” 

“I hate you sometimes.” 

“There are soldiers approaching,” Ahsoka warned. 

Unexpectedly, Rex grinned, his teeth bloody. “I have a plan, Commander. Trust me, it’s a good one.” 

* * *

Ahsoka tried to see the upside of being dead. It was tough, especially since ninety kilos of clone were lying face-down on top of her; her bruised ribs felt every gram. 

The speeder lurched to a start, jabbing Rex’s elbow into her ribs. They went around a curve; Ahsoka steadied Rex with the Force to prevent him from rolling off. 

“We need to _look_ dead,” Rex muttered.

“We won’t look dead if I start screaming,” she retorted. 

It was a near thing. Lying still was sheer agony. The hilt of her _beskad_ was digging into her back, just beneath where Crosshair had shot her. Between Rex and her half-crushed throat, it was hard to draw a breath. Worse, she could sense Echo driving past squads of armed, alert clones. Her every instinct told her to fight, to run, but to sell their deception, she needed to remain completely motionless. 

The speeder halted. Ahsoka heard the faint click of armor as a clone walked up to them. 

“What’s your business?” a clone asked.

“I heard there were men down at the top of the tree,” Echo said. “I’ve been sent to retrieve them.”

“Orders?”

Ahsoka couldn’t see through the cloak, but she assumed Echo had used his dataspike to give the other clone a falsified report, as Rex had planned. 

“That high priority?” the clone asked Echo. Then, “Where’s your leg armor?” 

The answer was that it was on Ahsoka’s legs, with her cloak—liberally smeared with blood from Rex’s head wound—covering her top half. Rex lay atop her, stripped down to his boots and bodysuit. To any passing eyes, Ahsoka and Rex would look like two dead clones. The flaw was that Echo only wore his armor from the waist up. 

“Don’t need it,” Echo told the trooper, tapping his durasteel legs. “Check out _these_ bad boys. I can run a klick in a minute flat, but I haven’t gotten new armor specc’d to fit them.”

There was a long pause. Ahsoka tensed, ready to jump to Echo’s defense. 

“Hurry up,” the clone said. “The city’s going on lockdown.” 

The speeder whirred uphill. Ahsoka didn’t feel anyone following them. 

She inhaled, struggling not to panic when her lungs barely filled. “Do you think they’re dead?” 

“The Bad Batch?” Rex asked. “If we’re lucky.” 

Ahsoka could feel how much it cost him to actively wish for his brothers’ deaths, how much it hurt him to see the 41st Elite, close but forever separated by an impossible distance, and knew anything she could say was not enough to encompass her understanding or assuage his pain. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?” he asked. “If I had the choice of having my chip activated and staying with my brothers, or living through the last two days over and over again, I would _always_ choose you. I know all my brothers would do the same thing if they had my choice, but they didn’t, because Empire stole it from them. It’s our job to stay alive long enough to give that back.” 

For a moment, she saw a flash of the cosmic Force, of the glowing threads of choice and free will extinguished by Sidious’ command. The sudden heat of Rex’s conviction breathed new life into that web, like embers in a dying fire. It lit something in her, too, something deep and painful and passionate and, above all, _furious_. 

Ahsoka threaded her hand through Rex’s. Blood squelched between their palms as he squeezed back. Softly, she said, “That doesn’t make killing them any easier.” 

“No, it doesn’t.” 

“Pipe down back there, corpses,” Echo warned.

The speeder juddered to a sudden halt, grinding the broken ends of Ahsoka’s ribs together. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood all over again. 

“What are you doing off-base?” a clone asked.

“Collecting fallen troopers,” Echo responded. “I was told there were some on the upper level.” 

“They were collected earlier today. Return to base. We’re under attack.” 

“What?” Echo asked. “The Seps are gone.” 

“I count three,” Ahsoka breathed. “One at our five o’clock. One at nine o’clock. One at seven o’clock.”

Rex jerked his head in acknowledgement. 

“Intel said it might be Jedi,” the clone said. “Where’s your leg armor?” 

Ahsoka pushed Rex upright, whipping off the cloak and throwing it at the clone speaking to Echo. Rex shot him twice and he staggered backward, falling off the avenue. Ahsoka shot the another and turned around to face the final trooper, but Echo had already killed him. 

“Sit tight,” Echo commanded. “We still have a way to go.” 

Ahsoka clipped the datapad to her belt and crouched on the back of the speeder, watching their back as they spiraled further up the wroshyr tree. With each rotation, the beach below shrank, the klaxon fading into the background. 

The comforting _whir-whir-whir_ of a LAAT/i engine grew louder. For one wild moment, Ahsoka believed it was their evac, as it had been so many times before, but then the gunship drew level with them and fired a rocket directly into the speeder’s engine. 

Rex and Ahsoka jumped clear, but Echo went flying as the speeder burst into flames; Ahsoka used the Force to yank him back onto the walkway as the LAAT/i opened fire. Ahsoka rolled behind the wrecked speeder, Rex and Echo joining her a heartbeat later. 

“We don’t get a kriffing _break_ ,” Rex snapped. “I’ll take out the primary pilot.”

“I’ll get the secondary,” Echo said.

They popped over the speeder and their guns barked in unison. An answering hail of fire peppered the buildings above their heads. 

Ahsoka peeked over the wreckage. One LAAT/i pilot was dead, the other framed by fresh scorch marks. The gunship rotated broadside as the loading doors drew back, revealing ten green-armored clones kneeling in the cargo bay. They shot at the speeder’s burning undercarriage, pulverizing their cover. 

Ahsoka ripped a thermal detonator off Echo’s belt, shouted, “Cover me!” and threw it into the cargo bay. One the clones kicked it out, but Ahsoka caught it with the Force and grimly pushed the detonator back inside. The detonator exploded, engulfing the gunship in a fireball. 

“I’m glad you’re on our side,” Echo told her.

“How far away are we?” she asked. 

“About half a klick,” Echo said, pointing up. “We should see it around this bend.” 

Ahsoka staggered to her feet, grimacing. Between that, her ribs, her foot, and her throat, she didn’t think she could walk for much longer. One look at Rex told her he had similar doubts. 

“I can support both of you,” Echo said. “We’re all getting out of this.” 

Ahsoka wrapped her arm around Echo’s shoulder, Rex on his other side. Together, they hobbled up the avenue, the servos in Echo’s legs groaning under the strain. 

They rounded the wroshyr’s trunk and finally saw the sunset glittering off the freighter fleet parked on the landing platform. The _Silver Angel_ was parked in the middle, about a hundred meters away, a massive gravity lock enveloping its forward strut. The four clones Ahsoka had seen earlier were still guarding the port master’s booth. The clones immediately raised their rifles, but Rex and Echo shot them in quick succession. 

Echo kicked down the door to the booth. The Devaronian was cowering under the table, his datapad raised protectively over his horns. 

“Whatever you want, take it!” the port master said. 

“Access codes to the gravity lock,” Rex said.

“I don’t know,” the Devaronian whined. “The clones put it on.” 

Rex shot him with a stun round. 

“I’ll handle the lock,” Echo said. He set Rex and Ahsoka down, handed his last thermal detonator to Ahsoka, and plugged his prosthetic hand into the port. “Cover me. It’ll take a few minutes.” 

“Unlock all—” Ahsoka’s voice cut out. She cleared her throat. “Unlock all the ships. We can’t let them know which one is ours until the last minute. Rex, contact Trace.” 

“Captain Martez, raise your shields,” Rex said into his comlink, “but make no sign you’re about to take off. Repeat, do not start the engine.” 

“What’s going on?” Trace demanded, as Rafa shouted, “What are you doing to our ship?” 

“Nothing will happen as long as you listen,” Ahsoka snapped. The world was beginning to vibrate at the periphery of her vision. “Please, trust me.” 

“Sounds like lartys,” Rex warned, edging out of the booth.

Ahsoka followed him out as two LAAT/is rose above the platform. Squads of clones rappelled down from the gunships, their Deeces whirring as they locked onto their targets. Ahsoka and Rex sprinted towards a nearby Trandoshan ship as blue rounds streaked over their heads. They crouched back-to-back behind the gravity lock. 

“How many are there?” she asked.

“At least thirty,” Rex said. “We’ll need to clear the platform or Echo won’t make it across.” 

Ahsoka sheathed her _beskad_ with difficulty and held up her blaster. “Alright.” 

They dashed from opposite sides of the gravity lock, firing as they ran. Ahsoka aimed at an advancing trooper’s neck and squeezed the trigger. His head snapped back. 

“Medic!” a clone yelled, his stricken voice stabbing into Ahsoka’s heart. On her other side, Rex had already downed four, his face impassive. 

Ahsoka shot two more men, then knocked the rest flat with the Force and bolted for the next ship, Echo’s leg armor rattling as she skipped to compensate for her injured foot. She collapsed behind the massive cargo ship’s strut. Bolts cracked against the ship, spitting sparks when they struck metal. 

The gravity locks hissed as they released. Across the platform, the _Silver Angel_ jetted skyward, its rear batteries swiveling towards the LAAT/i hovering beneath. The _Angel’s_ volley detonated the LAAT/i’s magazine; the concussive wave knocked Ahsoka to her knees. The second LAAT/i swooped low, strafing the _Silver Angel_ with its lasers and scorching a furrow just above the portside engine. The _Silver Angel_ dove under the landing platform, the gunship in pursuit. 

Rex dashed back to the booth, emerging a moment later with Echo. Ahsoka moved to cover them, spraying the clones with red bolts until her blaster overheated. Then, she used the Force to push a crate between Rex and Echo and the remaining clones, blocking their line of sight long enough for the 501st ARCs to join her behind the cargo ship. 

“Where’s our ride?” Echo asked. 

An enormous explosion rocked the platform. Plumes of hot smoke billowed up from beneath the duracrete landing pads. 

“That wasn’t them,” Ahsoka said when she saw Rex’s horrified expression. “I can still sense Trace.” 

Another LAAT/i ascended to the level of the platform. Ahsoka stared in shock as three black-armored clones jumped out. Wrecker was still weeping blood and his plackart hung in two pieces, revealing a bacta patch splayed over his stomach. Hunter’s nose had been squashed flat. Shards of transparisteel glittered on Tech’s face, but he was gamely hauling a massive harpoon gun. 

“Oh, _shab_ ,” Echo muttered, shouldering his rifle. 

“IF-Five!” Hunter shouted. “You and your ally must be executed for disobeying Order Sixty-Six!” 

“We’re not _choosing_ to follow the order!” Echo shouted back. “It’s being _given_ to us through chips in our brains. Fives was right! You know what I’m talking about. I—” 

“Good soldiers follow orders,” Hunter interrupted. “You’ve betrayed every last one of your brothers by taking the law into your own hands.” 

The Bad Batch stopped about ten meters away, their blasters pointed across empty space at Ahsoka, Rex, and Echo. 

“We took you in,” Tech said coldly, “and you repay us by harboring a Jedi traitor.” 

Behind the Bad Batch, the LAAT/i was turning to train its forward cannons on Ahsoka. Her blaster was overheated, her _beskad_ ineffective at long ranges, but she would not surrender—not now, after she had survived so much, and not ever to a Sith. 

As the Bad Batch opened fire, she did not reach out to the Force so much as collapse into it, sinking deep in its currents. The living Force limned every shape and being on the landing platform in gossamer threads. The clones were frozen mid-battle, bolts of energy crawling from one side to the other. Ahsoka concentrated only on the Force engulfing the LAAT/i. She held out her hand, giving the gunship one command: _Stop_. 

A crushing weight pressed against her head and chest as the LAAT/i strained against her, its engines rising to a high-pitched whine. Her legs threatened to buckle as she was slowly pushed towards the edge of the platform, but Rex threw his shoulder against her back, leaning into her to keep her upright. 

Ahsoka’s mouth twisted into a snarl. She was _strong_. She had always been strong—even Anakin had acknowledged that—and she was stronger than this. This time, she would be strong enough to change things, to save her friends’ lives. This time, she would not lose _anyone_ she loved. 

She closed her fist. 

The LAAT/i crumpled like a piece of flimsi. Its engines and rockets exploded, sending a column of emerald flames into the darkening sky. 

Ahsoka’s entire right arm went numb and flopped uselessly against her waist, but she still had one task and one good hand left. She gritted her teeth and exploited her fury once more for enough power to yank the gunship forward, dropping it onto the Bad Batch. 

The LAAT/i fell and Ahsoka fell with it, landing hard on her bruised knees, her vision flickering. She felt something large approaching the platform and staggered around, exhausted but ready to fight. Rafa stood on the _Silver Angel’s_ boarding ramp, the updraft from the engine whipping her awful coat around her legs. The last rays of daylight flashed off her rings as she beckoned them forward. “Come on!” 

Rex hooked Ahsoka under the armpits, hauling her backward towards the ship. He set her down against the bulkhead and Ahsoka could only hear the clunk of Echo’s legs against the ship as he followed behind. 

The groan of straining metal cut through Ahsoka’s fading thoughts. _No._

“You think something that small is gonna kill _me_?” a guttural voice called out, thick with fury. “You’ll have to try harder next time, little Jedi!” 

Something whistled through the air, followed by the crunch of tearing metal. The _Silver Angel_ ’s alarms blared as the ship suddenly lurched downward. Bands of red alarm lights splashed across Ahsoka’s eyelids. 

“He’s reeling us in!” Rafa yelled. 

“Disengage the hook!” Rex ordered. 

Ahsoka’s eyes refocused. The hangar door was open, the spiked head of a grappling hook splayed across the inner wall of the cargo bay. Wrecker had dropped the harpoon gun at his feet and wrapped the hook’s thick cable around his arms, digging his heels into the shattered duracrete for purchase as he dragged the _Silver Angel_ back towards the platform. Rafa and Echo were trying to saw through the line with Ahsoka’s _beskad_. Rex was keeping Hunter pinned behind a console with a wall of blaster fire. Beyond the screech of the containment alarms, the hum of approaching LAAT/is was increasing by the second. 

Ahsoka’s good hand crept towards her belt, closing her fingers around Echo’s thermal detonator. With her last shred of strength, she lobbed it at Wrecker. 

The shockwave tore the _Silver Angel_ away from the platform as the taut cable whipped into the cargo bay, slicing Rafa’s face. Echo yanked down the lever to close the door. 

“Go, go, go!” Rafa shouted, cupping her bloody cheek. She smashed open the emergency hull sealant with her elbow and sprayed a ring of foam around the grappling hook still protruding from the bulkhead. 

“Echo, go set the heading!” Rex shouted. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Echo said as he entered the cockpit. “Where’s the dataport?” 

Trace performed her trademark vertical takeoff, throwing Ahsoka into the aft bulkhead as the ship accelerated into the atmosphere. 

“Whoa, that’s a lot of cruisers!”

“They’re firing on us!”

The _Silver Angel_ rattled dangerously. 

“Releasing flares!” 

“Give her the gun, Trace!” 

Ahsoka propped herself up, her ribs screaming in pain. She could still see, still pilot. She could still fight— 

“Coordinates are in!” 

“This is gonna be a close one!” 

The stretch of hyperspace had never been more welcome and Ahsoka let herself go at last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I’m excited for _The Bad Batch_ , I wish the Mouse had given me the Delta Squad show I _actually_ wanted.


	10. Recovery

**Hyperspace  
41 hours after Order 66**

The moments after the _Silver Angel_ jumped to hyperspace was a blur of blood and bacta in the frigid cargo bay. The only illumination came from the emergency lights ringing the ladder leading up to the cockpit; Rex grabbed his helmet, flicked on the spot lamps, and went to work. 

All clones were taught triage as part of field medicine; since Rex’s stab wound had already been dressed, priority went to the unconscious Commander Tano. The _Silver Angel’s_ antiquated medical scanner did not indicate serious cranial trauma—whatever had knocked her out was not killing her, at least—but did reveal cracked ribs, a swelling windpipe, and a minor blaster burn. Rex gave her a mix of painkillers and anti-inflammatories, then cut open her tunic to apply a bacta patch to the scorched skin on her back. 

The lacerations on Echo’s head and shoulder came next. The contusion on Rex’s knee used up the last of their military-grade bacta. He and Echo had a few other minor injuries, but being slow would get Rex killed before anything else. Last came Rafa Martez, who had been trying and failing to cauterize her own cheek. After offering some token complaints, she allowed Echo to take over. 

Captain Martez dropped from the cockpit with a lantern in hand, her boots impacting hard against the durasteel. She rushed to Commander Tano’s side and knelt beside her. “What happened? Is Ahsoka okay?” 

“And what am I?” Rafa demanded. “Carbon flush?” 

“Ma’am, please don’t move while the glue is setting,” Echo said. 

Rafa flung several rude hand signs over Echo’s shoulder instead, the shadow of her hands flickering across the far wall. 

“You’ll get over it, Rafa,” Captain Martez scolded. “At least you’re not unconscious.” 

“Commander Tano will be fine,” Rex said. “We need to get the lights back on.” He shivered. “And the heat.” 

“Ahsoka turned those off to preserve power for the _Angel’s_ inertial compensators,” Captain Martez said. 

“ _Off_ or _down_?” Echo asked warily. 

“She powered them down,” Captain Martez clarified. “The ship will remain above freezing, but we’re in for a cold flight.” 

“Gather every blanket and coat you have,” Rex ordered. “We’ll need them soon.” 

Captain Martez hesitated, glancing at Commander Tano, then picked up her lantern and disappeared in the direction of the cabins. 

With everyone tended to, Rex settled beside his unconscious commander to examine the blaster burn on his arm. His blacks had taken the brunt of it, but the skin beneath was bubbling into a blister. There was nothing he could do to ameliorate that, so he sat back against the bulkhead, spinning his helmet in his hands. The HUD told him it had only been ten minutes since they had jumped, but Rex’s pulse was still hurdling through his veins, his muscles twitching in the long comedown from a battle high. 

A raspy moan rattled from Commander Tano’s throat. Her good eye snapped open, the pupil contracting the moment her eye registered the light from his spot lamps. “Rex?” 

“Yeah,” he said, relieved. “Yeah, it’s me, kid.” 

“Is everyone okay?” 

She tried to rise, then hissed in pain. Rex gently pushed her back down. 

“Everyone’s fine,” he assured her. “ _You_ have four cracked ribs.” 

Her hand flew to her bruised face. “My eye...” 

“Just swollen. You’ll have a nice shiner,” Rex said. 

Echo squatted beside her. “Welcome back to the living.” 

“I guess I probably should’ve said that to you, huh?” Commander Tano said. 

“You’d be surprised at how old the joke gets when you hear it from every clone in the GAR,” Echo teased. “Do you remember what happened before you blacked out?” 

“...There were star destroyers,” she said. “We jumped to hyperspace.” 

“Good. Where are we going?” 

“Sorgan.” 

“Any nausea, sleepiness, headaches—?” 

“I don’t have a concussion,” she said. “I think I just overexerted myself.” She gingerly pulled herself into a sitting position. “I haven’t done that since I was a youngling.” 

“So it’s ... Jedi stuff?” Rex guessed. 

Commander Tano coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, Jedi stuff. There’s a reason Anakin and I weren’t crushing starfighters left and right.” She curled her right hand into a fist, grimacing as she did so. “Hand’s still numb, but I’ll be fine.” 

Captain Martez sprinted back into the cargo bay, her arms piled high with blankets. She dropped them beside Commander Tano and said, “Ahsoka! Thank the stars, you’re awake.” 

“You really don’t need to worry about me, Trace,” she replied. “I look a lot worse than it is. Most of the blood isn’t mine. Besides, I do this kind of stuff all the time.” 

“Or worse,” Rex said. 

“Or worse,” Commander Tano agreed. 

“I saw what you did to that gunship,” Captain Martez said. “That was awesome.” 

Commander Tano cleared her throat. “It didn’t ... didn’t help.” 

“If you’d had your lightsaber, those guys would’ve been chopped into bantha food.” 

Commander Tano smiled, but darkness still lingered in her good eye and her face was tight with pain. 

“Is everyone in one piece now?” Rafa grumbled. “Because I have a _lot_ of questions. Mostly, who’s this—” She pointed to Echo “—where are we going, what is going on, are we Imperial fugitives already, and how much my fee is going to increase.” 

Rex helped Echo tell the whole story of Order 66, beginning with Fives’ discovery and ending with why they were heading to Sorgan. Commander Tano chimed in when necessary; her injured throat clearly pained her to speak. 

“I’ve never heard of a planet called Sorgan before,” Captain Martez said when they finished. “Where is it?” 

“The Outer Rim,” Echo said. “It’s a backwater; there’s no spaceport.” He frowned. “Which ... will be a problem—I don’t think Wolffe has any hyperdrive-capable ships.” 

The cargo bay suddenly seemed to shrink. 

“I think the _Angel_ could fit maybe a hundred, if they all stood,” Captain Martez said. “Maybe a hundred twenty if they packed the cockpit, too.” 

“One-fifty,” Echo opined. “We clones aren’t fussy about personal space.” 

“Let’s not count our convorees before they hatch,” Rafa said. She stood up, grabbed a lamp, and walked towards the ’freshers. “The clones could all be brainwashed already.” 

“Oh, come on, Rafa,” Captain Martez complained.

“What? That’s literally what Blondie just said.” 

“It’s a possibility,” Rex said, running a self-conscious hand over his hair. 

“If we get attacked on Sorgan too, your fee is— _mother of kriffing moons_!” Rafa exclaimed, jumping like a startled loth-cat. The lamp dropped from her hands and rolled across the floor, twisting bars of light across the bulkheads. 

Echo drew his rifle and advanced towards Rafa. He picked something up from the floor. Blood dripped from the severed forearm; two jagged bones stuck out from the bottom, beyond the cracked wrist comm. 

Commander Tano winced as she leaned over to look. “Is that Wrecker’s hand?” 

“It must have been pulled in when the cable snapped,” Echo said. 

“We’re spacing that thing,” Rafa said, her hand clamped over her mouth. “Now.” 

“We’re in hyperspace,” Captain Martez said. “We can’t drop out.” 

“Do we have any waste bags?”

“You put them away last time, so you tell me!”

“In that case,” Echo said, “let me give you a .... _hand_.” 

Everyone stared at him. Echo gestured with the still-bleeding limb. “Oh, come on. It was funny.” 

“There’s something deeply wrong with you,” Rafa said.

“Can it, Echo,” Rex ordered. “You’re scaring the civvies.” 

After Echo and the Martez sisters set off to find something for Wrecker’s amputated hand, Commander Tano joked, “The Techno Union really did a number on his brain.” 

“Echo’s always been a little crosswired,” Rex said. “It’s a prerequisite for being an ARC.” He glanced over at her. “Are you alright?” 

“I feel like I’ve been trampled by a reek.” 

“I can tell something’s on your mind.” 

The lines of strain returned to her face. “It’s ... Jedi stuff.” 

“I might not know anything about the Force,” Rex said, “but I can listen.” 

She picked at her nails for a moment. “That thing with the gunship ... it was because I used my attachment to connect with the Force.” 

Rex had heard about the Jedi prohibition on attachment, mostly from General Skywalker’s occasional bitter jokes. “I ... can’t say I follow, commander. I think it’s normal to want your command to survive.” 

“I don’t understand it, either,” she said, slowly clenching and unclenching her hand. “I just ... I _can’t_ let anyone else die and I don’t know if that _is_ attachment or if it’s acceptable, under the circumstances.” 

“With respect, we’re all alive,” Rex pointed out. “I think that counts as a success.” 

“In the short term,” she explained. “If I keep drawing on the Force through my attachments, I would need the same or greater intensity to maintain my connection. That level of attachment isn’t ... healthy. It corrupts us, opening us up to the Dark Side of the Force.” 

Troubled, Rex asked, “Then are the Sith always stronger?” 

“No. Jedi can achieve the same or better connection to the Force. It just takes longer—years of meditation and focus.” 

“We don’t have years right now,” Rex said. 

“That’s no excuse.” 

Rex had told the truth about his limited understanding of the Force; this was far beyond his depth. He could still try to make her laugh, though. “Respectfully, Commander, all the Sith I’ve seen have been much uglier.” 

She indicated to her swollen eye, scabbed-over lekku, and bloody jumpsuit with a wry smile. “I’m starting to fit in.” 

“It’s nothing proper medical attention won’t repair,” he assured her. “All the bacta in the galaxy couldn’t fix Maul’s brand of ugly.” 

“Ugh, do you remember the Chancellor? He wasn’t handsome before, but now that he’s gone Dark Side, he looks a Kowakian monkey-lizard.” 

“I think it’s treason if I laugh at that,” Rex said. 

She arched an eyebrow marking. “Is it really treason if you laugh at Darth Hideous?” 

They laughed anyway. Commander Tano stopped short, pressing a hand against her ribs. “We can go back to talking about worse things, actually.” 

After Wrecker’s hand had been bagged, everyone relocated to the cockpit for a meal. Neither Rex nor Commander Tano could stand comfortably, so the other three sat on the floor around them so they could eat together, illuminated by the lanterns and the blue tunnel of hyperspace. 

Bonteri had supplied them with a good store of dried fruit and a sort of hard, peppery biscuit, and the Martez sisters chipped in freeze-dried soup. The resulting meal was a feast by Rex’s standards—filling, hot, and varied. Rex ate at least twice his baseline caloric intake, but, as Kix used to say, healing was hungry work. Rex knew he would be black and blue; his teeth were uncomfortably loose as he gnawed on the fruit. 

“So, what’s this Wolffe guy like?” Captain Martez asked. 

“He’s a clone,” Rex said. “That means he’s like us.” 

“That’s not entirely true,” Echo said. “He’s ... a little more serious.” 

“You’re the normal ones?” Rafa demanded. 

“Well, _I’m_ hardly standard issue,” Echo said, holding up his dataspike. 

“Wolffe and his lieutenants Boost and Sinker were the last survivors of their battalion. Afterward, they rebuilt their unit and specialized in rescue,” Rex explained. “Even so, I don’t think Wolffe ever got over losing his entire command in less than ten minutes.” His chest constricted as he remembered the 332nd helmets staked outside his wrecked cruiser. “It’s ... not something you can forget.” 

“Since we can’t confirm Wolffe hasn’t received Order Sixty-Six,” Echo said, “we should land out of sight and approach on foot. If Wolffe _has_ gotten the order, we have a few klicks of terrain to shake him. Ahsoka should wait with the ship until we can confirm Wolffe’s chip wasn’t activated.” 

“Either Wolffe has received Order Sixty-Six and you’ll need backup, or he hasn’t and I should be there to explain what happened,” Commander Tano said. 

“Wolffe probably wouldn’t attack Rex and me if you aren’t there,” Echo said. 

“I don’t want to make assumptions when people’s lives are on the line,” she replied sharply. 

“Then it sounds like we should stay with the ship?” Captain Martez said, glancing to Commander Tano. 

Commander Tano nodded. “You’re the getaway.” 

“And I don’t want to go anywhere near an armed camp. The _Angel’s_ already taken a beating today,” Captain Martez said, patting the floor affectionately. 

“It’s a good thing you updated the exterior shielding.” 

“And I scrambled the _Angel’s_ transponder code before we landed,” Captain Martez said. “There are millions of _Nebula_ -class freighters out there. It should throw the Empire off our scent.” 

“The _Angel_ looks custom,” Echo said. “It might narrow the field.” 

“Enough,” Rafa snapped, picking at her soup. “I want to eat in peace. Does anyone have anything nice to say?” 

Silence pervaded the cabin. Rex stared guiltily at his empty bowl. Any stories he or Echo had were about brothers lost or dead, or battles that didn’t matter anymore. Commander Tano was no better. She had been hunting Maul for several months and after that had been the order she probably wanted to forget. 

“Well, then maybe we should talk,” Captain Martez suggested. “There was this one time Rafa and I were hired to bring two thousand nuna to Batuu...” 

The Martex sisters continued elaborating on their trading experiences in the Outer Rim. Rafa seemed to take special joy in describing jobs on the greyer side of the law—looking at Rex as she did so, likely daring him to respond—but Echo gleefully out-competed her with black ops stories from his ARC days. Rex noted he didn’t talk about the Bad Batch at all. 

After an hour or so, exhaustion caught up with them all. By the time Rex returned from the ’freshers—now back in his armor—Rafa, Trace, and Commander Tano sitting against the wall, fast asleep and wrapped in every blanket on the _Silver Angel_. Echo was in the copilot’s chair with Captain Martez’s repair kit, fiddling with his prosthetic. 

“How’s your shoulder feel?” Echo asked. 

Rex rotated his arm experimentally, gritting his teeth as fresh agony lanced his chest. “I hope Wolffe has more bacta.” 

“Why wouldn’t he?” Echo asked. “We need rescue, too.” 

“We’ll just make sure he’s had his caf before we get to business.”

“I could _kill_ for some kriffing caf.” 

“Me, too.” 

Rex sat beside Commander Tano, throwing the end of the blanket over his legs and chest. His suit was temperature controlled, but there was no point in running down the power when he didn’t know what awaited them on Sorgan. Togruta also had higher body temperatures than humans and Rex was soon warm enough. 

Echo muttered a curse, then set down his repair kit. “Of all the clones to survive from sheer dumb _luck_ , of course it was Wolffe. Your _vod’ika_ is a crazy _shabuir_.” 

It was a clone’s prerogative to complain; Rex knew Echo spoke from affection rather than genuine irritation. “There’s a few in every batch.” 

“We couldn’t have gotten Bacara?” 

Unable to stop himself, Rex said, “Or Cody.” 

Just five days ago, Rex and Cody had been managing post-battle cleanup on Yerbana when they had learned of Commander Tano’s return. Cody had immediately assigned all responsibilities to the 212th, freeing Rex to return in time to arrange a welcome party. As much as Rex had wanted to go, he had refused; the damage to civilian targets on Yerbana had been extensive and he would have been leaving Cody with a cruiser-sized pile of paperwork. Cody had reminded him that the 212th and 501st were due to be deployed together on Felucia. There would be plenty of time for Rex to repay the favor. Then, Rex had hopped onto the first available gunship without looking back. Hours later, Coruscant had been attacked, Rex had been sent to Mandalore, and then Order 66 had changed everything... 

Had it really only been five days since Yerbana? Rex’s head ached just thinking about it. 

“Sorgan is near Utapau,” Echo said. “It’ll be our second stop, if we think Cody hasn’t gotten the order.” 

“Even if he has,” Rex said, “Commander Tano promised—” 

“We can call her _Ahsoka_ now.” 

Commander Tano shifted in her sleep, stabbing Rex in the cheek with one of her montrals. He tilted his head away from her as he tried to think of a good rebuttal. The truth was that _Commander Tano_ was a known entity—the kid Rex had watched grow from their first battle together on Christophsis, the Jedi he trusted with his life, the soldier who had laughed and fought alongside her men. _Ahsoka_ was completely different. _Ahsoka_ was the survivor who had buried her command. She was a fighter without a battle, the crushing weight of survival, a haunted look in the corner of the eye. She was a bloody hand taken in the dark. She was the warm pressure on his shoulder. 

“It’s out of respect,” Rex said finally. “I don’t care if she’s not a Jedi.” 

“Or that you’re not in the army?”

Rex looked at Echo askance. “We are. We’re just not in the _Imperial_ Army.” 

“We weren’t big fans of the Republic, either,” Echo asked, sitting on the floor across from him. “We used to complain about the Republic—how much the civvies hated us, how the Senate wouldn’t even acknowledge we even had sentience, how we would get nat-born commanders or Jedi like Krell and we wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. The Republic never told us what would happen to us after the war, either, because it turns out the _Republic_ was making us into Palpatine’s pawns.” 

“Palpatine controlled the Senate, but he wasn’t _the_ Republic,” Rex argued, pitching his voice low to avoid waking the others. “We can’t compare bad public opinion to the death of the Jedi Order or the enslavement of the galaxy. I know the Republic wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t _this_.” 

“What I’m trying to say is if we _are_ truly free and we decide to fight the Empire of our own volition, we shouldn’t do it in the Republic’s name,” Echo said. “We should do it for ourselves and our brothers and the Jedi.” 

“If we’re fighting for clones and Jedi, we’re still fighting for the Republic,” Rex argued. “And I want revenge as much as the next clone, but ultimately, we’d be fighting for freedom and democracy—the same things the Republic stood for.” 

“The Republic doesn’t have a monopoly on ideals.” 

“And who’s going to make this new government?” Rex asked drily. “An army of jaded, brainwashed thirteen-year-old non-citizens?” 

Echo laughed. “This eleven-and-a-half-year-old jaded non-citizen will give it a shot. I was pretty good at writing battle strategies, wasn’t I?” 

“The best,” Rex agreed. “You sound a lot like Fives. He was always talking about what would happen at the end of the war.” 

“Yeah? What did he think?” 

“He thought the debate over what to do with us in peacetime would start a fight between the Jedi Order and the Chancellor,” Rex said. “I guess ... he was right.” 

“In the worst way possible.” 

“Eh, Fives would still find a way to rub it in.” 

Echo smiled humorlessly. “Before the Citadel, I didn’t think much about our lot in life. But, as it turns out, being forced to serve your enemy gives you a new perspective on a glorious lifetime of military service.” 

“I ... didn’t even think of it like that,” Rex admitted. Order 66 must have hit Echo harder than he was letting on. 

“Well, do you think we’re still soldiers of the Republic?”

Rex’s automatic answer was _yes_ ; he had never thought of himself as anything else from the moment he _could_ think. The Kaminoans had inculcated them with long lists of priorities, including loyalty: first to the Senate, then to the Chancellor, then to the Jedi, and lastly to themselves. As the war had dragged on, though—and especially after Umbara—Rex had upended that progression entirely. 

Two years into the war, Rex had met up with Fox at 79’s. While the 501st won renown in the Outer Rim, Fox had played senate guard, prison warden, and police officer; watching his brothers shanked in back alleys, hunted for sport by gangsters, beaten to pulp in prison riots, run over by drunks, hounded in the streets, and even poisoned by terrorists on their days off. Fox had started drinking and crying and he hadn’t stopped, reeling off the slurs thrown at him by criminals, citizens, and senators alike. 

“They told us that the Republic would be grateful,” Fox had sobbed. “What did we do, except what we were told?” 

“No,” Rex said at last. “We’ve left millions of our brothers behind to serve the Republic against their will. We need to fight for them.” He glanced at Commander Tano. “And I’m not going to watch the Empire destroy everything we worked for.” 

“And what if we don’t want to fight?” Echo asked quietly. 

Rex thought of Cut Laqwayne’s farm on Saleucami. “Then we have that choice.” 

Echo smiled. “You’re a good man, Rex.” 

“I try to be.” The dead 332nd silently refuted him. 

“Try to get some sleep,” Echo said. “I’ll take first watch.” 

There was no point in keeping watch on a ship in hyperspace, but Rex appreciated it all the same. He guessed it would be another eight standard hours before they reached Sorgan—just enough time for him to relive all his nightmares over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway there! Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read and special shout-out to everyone who kudos'd, bookmarked, and commented. Your constant enthusiasm and positivity almost makes me sorry the fic ends the way it does! 


	11. The Wolfpack

**Sorgan  
51.0 hours after Order 66**

It felt good to put his kit on again. 

Rex’s HUD booted up a second after he put his helmet on, imposing vital signs, armor integrity, and terrain readouts over his right eye. The left side would have displayed troop movements and vetted incoming comms, but Rex had ripped out his connection to Military Operations before he and Ahsoka had flown away from the crash site. He stared at the emptiness for a moment before moving the terrain data to the left with a few blinks. 

Behind him, the _Silver Angel’s_ engines sighed as they finished powering down. Commander Tano had thrown several logs and a carpet of humus over the transport to disguise it from aerial patrols. She wouldn’t fool a thermal or electromagnetic scanner, but Rex hoped the Wolfpack wouldn’t look for something they weren’t expecting. 

Commander Tano herself was seated beside Captain Martez on the _Angel’s_ ramp, removing Echo’s armor from her legs and handing it back to him. A night of sleep had done wonders for her. She was smiling, despite having two brilliant black eyes and a face, lek, and throat mottled with bruises. Blame twisted Rex’s gut; his job was to protect her, but they’d been lucky to escape Kashyyyk alive. 

Echo noticed Rex looking at them and pretended to cover his unarmored thigh. “Don’t look. I’m indecent.” 

“It’s nothing I don’t see in the mirror every day,” Rex replied as Captain Martez howled with laughter. 

Captain Martez wiped her eyes. “But ... but wait, don’t you have cool robot legs?” 

Echo jerked a thumb towards her. “See? She gets it.” 

Commander Tano slipped out of Echo’s black boot and flexed her toes. “By the Force, humans have small feet.” 

“Do you have a spare set of boots, Commander?” Rex asked. 

“As long as we don’t pick a fight with Wolffe, I’ll be fine,” she replied, setting her bare feet on the grass. 

Echo pulled on Commander Tano’s discarded boot, snapped on his helmet, and stood, his Deece held loosely across his chest. His Bad Batch armor was heftier than his old ARC armor—more like a commando’s Katarn kit than a trooper’s Mark II. It was matte black; the only color was the 501st blue handprint on his breastplate. To Rex, Echo’s armor was achingly sentimental, but anyone on the business end of Echo’s Deece would undoubtedly find it menacing. 

Rex let out an appreciative whistle. “Nice kit.” 

Echo glanced down as if seeing himself for the first time. “All dressed up and the only people I’m impressing are _vode_.” 

“I’m impressed,” Commander Tano said. 

“Me, too,” Captain Martez chipped in. 

“I don’t think Wolffe will care, though. His boys have their own aesthetic.” Echo reached towards Rex. “Can I borrow your kama?” 

“This is a _captain’s_ kama,” Rex protested, jerking the edge out of Echo’s grasp. “Corporals are to keep their hands _off_ the skirt.” 

“Please, sir?” Echo asked. “I promise I won’t stretch it out.” 

Commander Tano masked a smile behind her hand. 

“That’s enough smart talk from the ranks,” Rex said. “We’re moving out.” 

Echo straightened, all humor vanishing. “Yes, sir.” 

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Commander Tano told the captain. 

“Good luck,” Captain Martez said. “I’ll keep the engines warm.” 

Commander Tano leapt four meters into the nearest tree and settled in the branches, waiting for Rex and Echo. She would keep out of sight, a few meters behind them. It would hopefully keep her out of range if Wolffe dropped ordinance on their heads. 

“Ready to take the old heel-to-toe express?” Echo asked Rex. 

Rex sighed. “Well, we’re not going to get there faster by standing around.” 

Their company of two marched lockstep into the forest, weapons drawn. The _Silver Angel_ had landed ten klicks southwest of Wolffe’s last known position. Aerial surveillance had not revealed any settlements and Echo’s databank had not indicated the presence of hostile wildlife. Still, Rex almost died on too many “uninhabited” and “safe” planets to let his guard down. The trees echoed with animal calls—metallic screeches, soft purrs, even a repetitive click like a cooling speeder engine—and Rex missed the GAR databases that would have told him exactly what they were. 

“This place is more mud than rock,” Echo grumbled. 

Rex glanced down. His boots were filthy from ankle to knee, coated in the gluey black muck endemic to Sorgan. “You did say Wolffe was helping with flood relief.” 

“Maybe Sorgan is like Naboo,” Echo suggested. “I heard the planet’s core is an ocean. General Skywalker said General Kenobi was almost eaten by a fish down there.” 

“I hope not,” Rex said. He hated swimming ops; the other clones had claimed it was from being in his gestation chamber too long, but Rex thought it was a sensible aversion while wearing forty kilos of armor. “A fish, huh? Must have been a big one.” 

“The _Angel’s_ databank said the locals farm an aquatic species called _krill_. Not sure how big those are, though.” Echo sighed. “Tech would know.” 

Rex did not miss the misery in his voice, just as he hadn’t missed the almost reverent way Echo had shunted Wrecker’s amputated hand into orbit outside of Sorgan. 

“I wish I’d gotten the chance to serve with the Bad Batch again,” Rex prompted. “They seemed like a good crew.” 

“Well, Crosshair told me you got off to a rough start with the boys,” Echo said. 

“Yeah ... Jesse almost clocked him for insubordination.” 

“Crosshair has a good sense of humor, you know. You had to, to put up with Tech when he went off on one of his tangents.” 

Rex tried to picture Crosshair’s saturnine face smiling. He almost overloaded his neural circuits. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

“I hadn’t had a real squad since I left the Five-Oh-First. It was ... nice to be part of a team again,” Echo said. He laughed ruefully. “I didn’t envy Hunter trying to keep the peace between the five of us, but he did a great job—he’s the _reason_ we had a hundred percent success rate. He really knew how to leverage our strengths—when I started investigating the chips, he got the whole Batch on my side. Turns out, Tech was _dying_ for an excuse to slice into Kamino’s databanks...” 

It was hard to tell under the helmet and voice modulator, but Rex thought Echo was crying. Force, they should have been able to stop and catch their breath to process everything that had happened, but even a moment’s pause would have been the death of them. They had no choice but to keep plunging deeper into a dark future where every single enemy between their scopes would be not a battle droid or Separatist, but their own brother. Clones had been conditioned to fight any enemy in the galaxy except each other. 

_But we weren’t supposed to,_ Rex reminded himself. They should have all followed Sidious’ order like good little soldiers. 

They plodded through the muck for half a klick before Echo spoke again. “I, uh ... I actually put in a request to transfer back to the Five-Oh-First.” 

A dozen questions popped into Rex’s mind, but he knew from experience that most people filled the silence. It seemed like Echo knew what he would say next, anyway. 

“I liked the Batch,” Echo continued, “and they took me in like a brother, but they’ve been together since they were decanted. When you’re with your batchmates, it’s like you can read their—well, you know.” 

“Not really,” Rex admitted. “I was fighting with the generals more than my batch.” 

Almost of them were dead, anyway. Attie had been killed on Anaxes by a Separatist gunship just days before Rex had met the Bad Batch. The guilt had weighed on him for days. Zeer was still alive, but Rex had sent him to Coruscant as Appo’s second-in-command. There was no telling where he or Appo or any of the other 501st were now. 

“Well, the way you and Ahsoka fight is pretty close.” 

“Doesn’t count. She _can_ read my mind.” 

Echo snorted. “Anyway, I missed having ... regs. The Bad Batch never lost a member—made them hard to talk to.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if the ARCs would take me back, but my prosthetics are good enough for front-line combat and I figured if I was going to die for real, I’d rather go to the sound of Kix chewing me out for giving him more filing.” 

“It ... it wouldn’t have been Kix,” Rex reminded him. 

“Oh, right,” Echo said. “You said he was MIA.” 

“I don’t know anymore,” Rex said bitterly. “Kix disappeared while we were on Xagobah. We looked for him for two days without finding a body.” He kicked futilely at the ground, struggling for a way to justify his actions. “I was losing brothers left and right; at the time, I tried not to think too much about Kix. But I found out he’d accessed Fives’ autopsy the week before he disappeared and now I can’t help but wonder what _really_ happened to him, whether it was the Kaminoans, the Separatists, the Chancellor, or ... something else.” 

Echo punched his shoulder hard enough to hurt. 

“What was that for?” Rex demanded. 

“Take it from me,” Echo said grimly. “Don’t live in the past. How were you supposed to know about a plot the Sith pulled off without the _Jedi_ finding out?” 

Maybe Kix really had died unremarkably, like so many other clones, but that was not what Rex wanted for him. He sifted through the net of guilt constricting his heart and seized onto a single thread. “I ... I hope Kix deserted.” He pulled harder. “And I hope he’s getting a real medical degree in Neutral Space, and I hope he’s got a family of his own and doesn’t try to come back for us after he learns about the order.” 

“Me, too,” Echo said quietly. “At least one of us deserves to live in peace.” 

The broad, leafy trees they had been walking beneath for half an hour thinned out, giving way to saplings, underbrush, and reddish grass that grew up to their waists. From what Rex had seen on the flight in, this sector of Sorgan was an alternating mix of grass, marsh, and forest. The patchwork would make it difficult for the Wolfpack to track them; on foot, they would be hindered by the treacherous footing, and vehicles would not be able to pass into the trees. 

_And we have a Jedi._ Wounded or not, she was formidable. 

Rex checked the infrared for the violet, Togruta-shaped blob wavering in the corner of his HUD. He was surprised she was keeping up, despite her injuries, but he knew his pace had fallen beneath regulation standard; his knee was still sore and his chest was one livid bruise. He had gotten a solid block of sleep, though, even if he had had an unusually visceral dream where he had searched for Jesse in the ice caves of Ilum. 

Rex’s HUD flared green and he scanned the readout before saying, “Sensors are detecting a sharp drop in atmospheric pressure.” 

“Ah,” Echo said. “That explains _that_.” 

Rex turned into the wind. A thundercloud was advancing ominously on their position from the north. Flashes of lightning pulsed within the darkness. “Yeah, I think it does.” 

“We’re still two klicks out.” 

“Almost there,” Rex pointed out, trying for optimism. “Keep on walking, trooper.” 

The rain pattered against their armor—gently at first, then ramping up to a blinding deluge. Rex’s bodysuit was waterproof to a point, but that point was reached less than five minutes into the downpour. Shin-deep water sloshed around Rex’s boots and the sky blackened to nighttime conditions. Rex stuck his spot lamps onto his helmet, but the storm was still compromising his vison; Echo’s black armor rendered him almost invisible, despite standing just half a meter away. 

“Is Ahsoka still there?” Echo yelled, his voice muffled by the roaring wind. 

Rex checked his HUD. “She’s following!” 

“We should find shelter! She won’t make it!” 

“She’d tell us if she couldn’t,” Rex said. “Come on! Less than a klick left!” 

Lightning etched across the sky, followed by a deafening barrage of thunder. Rex leaned into the powerful gusts, instinctively shielding his face even though he was wearing a helmet. A branch flew out of nowhere, cracking him across his bruised chest and knocking him to his knees. Twin lightning strikes just twenty meters away blinded his infrared. 

“No wonder no one lives here!” Echo shouted. “I—” 

He vanished with a splash. 

“ _Echo!_ ” Rex screamed. He dropped to his knees and reached into the muddy water in front of him, sensing a swooping nothingness between his hand. A glow appeared below the muddy water and Echo surfaced, the light from his lamps swinging as he struggled for a handhold. 

Rex grabbed his hand to haul him up, but Echo continued rising of his own accord until he hovered a meter above the water’s surface. Commander Tano stepped forward, lowering her hands to set Echo back onto the flooded ground. 

“Thanks for the assist,” Echo panted, staggering to his feet. “I got stuck in the mud.” 

Commander Tano smiled, splitting the scabs on her lips and cheek. “And _I_ got bored of creeping along behind you. What was the holdup?” 

“Rex is old.”

“Careful, shiny,” Rex said. “You’re barely out of your test tube as it is.” He turned to her. “You should fall back. I’m picking up a big energy signature a quarter klick west. The Wolfpack is close.” 

Commander Tano whirled, using the Force to stop a branch thicker than Rex’s leg from impaling him. 

“Between the Wolfpack and the storm, I choose the Wolfpack,” she said, and neither Rex nor Echo had any objections to that. 

With a Jedi leading, they picked up the pace, weaving their way across the treacherous ground and up a wooded hill. The trees creaked alarmingly in the gusts, but the wind whistling between their trunks was weaker than on the open plain. They slogged up the hill, slipping in the mud and stepping over fallen branches until the muted white blur on the hilltop solidified into a line of floodlights mounted atop a wall. They scrambled the last five meters to the perimeter, pressing against the wall for its meager shelter as they followed its course to a gatehouse jutting from the durasteel. The three of them crowded beneath the overhang, grateful to finally escape the pelting rain. For a moment, they caught their breath in the humid air, staring wide-eyed at the deluge. 

The gates slid open and everyone went for their weapons as two muddy, grey-armored clones marched out, their ponchos snapping wildly around their shoulders. 

“What the _fierfek_ are you doing out here?” one of them yelled. “Didn’t you see the lightning?” 

“Have you received Order Sixty-Six?” Rex asked immediately. 

“What?” 

“They’re not Wolfpack!” the other said, raising his rifle again. 

“Answer the question, trooper! That’s an _order_!” Rex barked, his heart pounding as his fingers curled around the triggers of his blasters. 

The Wolfpack’s rifles were suddenly ripped their hands; Commander Tano caught them deftly. “They haven’t received the order. I can feel it.” She turned to the other clones. “I’m Ahsoka Tano, formerly a Padawan. It’s urgent that we speak to Commander Wolffe.” 

“Oh, right,” the first clone said, his balled fists falling to his sides. “You’re General Plo’s kid.” 

His companion—who had a wolf eating a moon splashed across his chestplate—did not seem convinced. “I thought you left the Order, sir.” 

“I did,” she acknowledged. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here without good reason.” 

The two Wolfpack clones exchanged a look. 

“Alright,” the wolf clone said. “We’ll take you in. It’s not safe outside during the storms, anyway.”

“I’m Pint,” said his brother. “This is Hati.” 

“Echo,” the former ARC said. “This is Captain Rex.” 

“I thought so,” Pint said. “I recognize the armor. We saved your unit a couple times.” 

“We’re here to return the favor,” Rex said.

Commander Tano handed their Deeces back and Pint leaned back to shout the passcode up at the guard. He repeated himself twice before the guard heard them well enough to open the door. The gate rose, revealing neat rows of prefabricated durasteel boxes that could serve as just about anything a battalion needed. As they walked towards the command module, Rex smelled the unmistakable aroma of fresh foodbread rising from one—the mess, likely—and noted the stylized wolf heads covering what were likely the barracks. 

The command module was differentiated by the scorched comm spike rising from its center. Inside, the windowless box was eerily dark, illuminated by battery-powered lanterns stationed atop the unoccupied desks. Wolffe and his captains were studying a flimsi map thrown over a holotable situated at the center of the room. Rex removed his helmet. Echo followed suit. 

“Commander Wolffe, sir!” Hati announced. “I have Captain Rex of the Five-Oh-First, ARC trooper Echo, and ... uh...” 

“Ahsoka,” she said, at the same time Rex said, “Commander Tano.”

“...Lady Tano?” Hati guessed. “They said they needed to speak to you urgently.” 

Wolffe’s artificial eye raked over them as his mouth curved into a familiar scowl. “This should be good. Hati, Pint, return to your posts. Boost, Sinker, let’s hear what mess we have to haul the Five-Oh-First out of this time.” 

After the troopers left, Rex immediately unholstered his blasters and shot up the comms station, Echo joining in a heartbeat later. They didn’t stop until all the boards were a smoking wreck. Boost and Sinker stared at them, aghast. Wolffe only raised an eyebrow. 

“You never call, you never write,” Wolffe drawled, “and now after three months apart, you decide to greet your dear brother by destroying the only means we have to get off this mud pit.” 

“We can’t let the Empire contact you,” Rex explained. “There’s a chip in your brain that will force you to kill Jedi if you hear the Supreme Chancellor—now the Emperor—tell you to follow Order Sixty-Six.” 

Wolffe’s scowl deepened. “The...? What in _haran_ are you talking about? Is this about Fives again?” 

“Fives was right,” Commander Tano said. “Two standard days ago, the chips forced the clones to turn on the Jedi. The Order was massacred and the Republic became the Empire.” 

“Order Sixty-Six?” Wolffe demanded, his sarcastic veneer finally slipping into confusion. He shook his head. “No. The Jedi wouldn’t let that happen. They were the ones to order us from Kamino!” 

“It was an evil Jedi—a Sith named Darth Sidious, who was actually Chancellor Palpatine,” Rex said. “He hijacked the clone order and put chips in our brain to make us obey him.” He pointed to the scar on his temple, realizing he was sounding crazier and crazier and he should have let Echo or Commander Tano explain, but he couldn’t stop the words pouring from his mouth. He had to make Wolffe understand, had to save _someone_ because Force knew it was too late for the rest of their brothers without a miracle—but miracles were for Jedi and there were no Jedi left. “We weren’t made to bring peace to the galaxy—the Emperor made us to kill the Jedi, and in every system _except_ this one, that’s exactly what happened. You, me, Echo, and the Wolfpack might be the only clones left with free will.” 

Boost seemed terrified; Sinker, incredulous; but Wolffe was impossible to read. 

“Boost, get a medic,” Wolffe said finally. 

“I saw it myself,” Echo said as Boost ducked out. “I was on Felucia with Commander Bly and General Secura when we got the order. Bly gunned her down without a second thought. Wolffe, you _know_ how Bly—” 

“This sounds like a load of bantha shit,” Wolffe said, crossing his arms. “How is Commander Tano here? Why didn’t _you_ execute her?” 

“Rex almost killed me,” she said, “but I removed his chip after the command was triggered. Echo had his chip removed or damaged on Skako Minor.” 

“Ah,” Wolffe said, his expression clearing. “I remember, but perhaps you don’t, Commander: Echo was Wat Tambor’s lab rat for over a year, selling our Outer Rim strategies to the Seppies. He ... he must have been turned for the Separatists and this is all a Techno Union plot—” 

“My loyalty is and always has been to my brothers,” Echo snarled. 

Wolffe was in full denial now and Rex hadn’t wanted to tell him this first, but the chrono was running down and he wasn’t _listening_. “General Plo is dead.” 

Wolffe laughed, but it sounded too hollow to be genuine. “ _Now_ you’ve gone astral. I suppose you want me to believe that his own men killed him.” 

“That’s exactly what happened,” Rex said, looking Wolffe square in the eye. “General Plo was mopping up on Cato Nemoidia with a squadron of ARC-One-Seventies. His wing leader received the order mid-flight and shot him down. When the search party found his body, they shot him again and left him to rot. His lightsaber—” 

Wolffe surged forward, seizing him by the breastplate, his face millimeters from Rex’s. “Don’t say another _word_ about General Plo or I swear on the Force, I’ll have you court-martialed for sedition.” 

Boost returned with another clone in tow. The red sigil painted on his spaulder marked him as a medic. “I brought Risso, sir.” 

“They’re delusional,” Wolffe said, panic finally registering in his organic eye. “They’ve contracted a brain fever. They—” 

“I would never lie to a brother, Wolffe,” Rex said, discreetly signaling Commander Tano to stand down. “Not about this.” 

The only sound in the command center was the water still dripping off their armor. Rex kept his gaze locked on Wolffe, willing his brother to _believe_. 

Without breaking eye contact, Wolffe asked, “Commander Tano, does Palpatine’s voice force us to kill Jedi?” 

“Yes,” she said.

“Has the Republic fallen?”

“Yes.”

Wolffe hesitated. “Is ... General Plo dead?” 

Boost and Risso looked up in alarm. 

“Yes.”

Wolffe closed his eyes and turned away, releasing Rex with shaking hands. “My men and I will need to hear everything. From the beginning.” 

Wolffe assembled all the men he could spare—all but twenty—in the mess hall. For the next two hours, Rex, Echo, and Commander Tano explained what had happened. Every time Rex recounted this story, the horror of it sank deeper into his bones, so he shut himself away and pretended he was telling someone else’s tragedy. It flowed smoother this time; this was his third retelling—his third with Commander Tano and his second with Echo—and they had practice weaving a coherent narrative. Commander Tano also showed the Wolfpack Rex’s brain scan, revealing the location of the chip, and Echo corroborated it with scans from Tup’s and Fives’ autopsies. 

The Wolfpack took the news with quiet disbelief—there were shaking heads in the audience, but fewer than Rex had anticipated—until Echo showed them the holos taken on Cato Nemoidia. General Plo’s seared body sagged out of his starfighter, his breathing apparatus torn off his face. Commander Tano did not turn to look as the Wolfpack grieved, her back ramrod straight and her eye unusually bright. Rex wanted to reach out to her, but it felt improper during a public debriefing. 

Finally, Echo showed them Palpatine’s first speech to the Imperial Senate. The Wolfpack leapt to their feet, shouting in betrayal. Wolffe did not hide the tears streaming down his face as he waved them into silence. Slowly, the Wolfpack settled, their eyes still simmering with anger. Rex had seen the same look on Umbara after the 501st had learned of Krell’s treason. 

“Listen,” Wolffe said hoarsely, “we may be the last Republic force in the galaxy. It’s time to remind this _Emperor_ that these wolves have teeth! Let’s hunt! _Oya_!” 

The men broke into a chorus of howls, bashing their gauntlets against their chests loud enough to hear from Coruscant. Soon, Rex swore, Palpatine’s carefully-planned clones would erase him from the galaxy. 


	12. Necessary Precautions

**Wolfpack FOB, Sorgan  
53.0 hours after Order 66**

Ten minutes later, Wolffe slid out of the surgical pod, a fresh bandage covering his temple. Risso administered the anesthesia reversal. There must have been twenty clones—and one Jedi—crowded into the medical bay, but Rex couldn’t hear a single one breathing as Wolffe’s scarred face began to twitch. Everything hinged on the 104th’s first volunteer. 

Wolffe sat up and glared at everyone clustered around his gurney. “What are you staring at?” he grumbled. “We’re not being unpaid to sit on our _shebse_.” 

“How ... how do you feel, sir?” Boost asked tentatively. 

“Pissed.” Wolffe threw his legs over the edge of the gurney and reached for his helmet. 

“I need to conduct a brain scan,” said the chief medical officer, Risso. He was an older clone with scarlet hair and a better bedside manner than the ever-irascible Wolffe deserved. “Just to make sure.” 

“Bantha shit. Rex cleared out a Jedi cruiser the moment he woke up, so I should be able to fight a lylek bare-handed.” 

“For the men, sir,” Risso pointed out. 

Wolffe finally relented, although he glowered at his medic as the droid trundled over. After the droid completed its scan, it reported, “I detect no difference in brain function. The subject is advised to rest for twenty-four hours to heal the cranial wound.” 

Rex thought back on the chaotic day following his procedure and met Commander Tano’s eye across the room to wince exaggeratedly. She shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Commander Tano was right, of course; the first day after the Order had been the hardest, longest day of Rex’s short life, but every bloody step they had taken had brought their freedom to the Wolfpack as well. 

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Wolffe told the droid. 

The medical droid spluttered. “But, sir—” 

“Can it, tinny.” Wolffe switched on his comlink to the company-wide channel. “Listen up, _vode_ : I survived, despite Risso’s best efforts.” 

“You’re not getting any painkillers,” Risso muttered. 

“All officers not—repeat, _not_ —assigned a mission for tomorrow, report to the command module for an emergency meeting in ten standard minutes. Wolffe out.” Then, he appraised the clones crowded around him. Rex knew what orders he would have given to the 501st, but this was Wolffe’s command. 

“Boost, you’re going last in case the surgery kills me,” Wolffe announced. “We’ll draw numbers for the rest of the Hundred-Fourth, but for now, Risso, you’ll go next. We need your skills most. Whill, stay here and organize the queue. De-chip squads together.” 

Clones were not identical on the neurological level, Rex knew, but ten years on Kamino and three years in the field had rendered his brother commanders frighteningly close. 

Risso helped the other medics prep the surgical pod as Wolffe ordered everyone out of the medbay. The downpour had slackened to a drizzle and a low-riding mist was threading through the camp. Rex was still soaked from earlier; the cold, dry medbay had made his teeth chatter. 

He took his place at Commander Tano’s side. “We weren’t too late.” 

She offered him a wan smile in return. “No, we weren’t.” 

“Trouble, Commander?” 

“No. Why?” 

“I just thought you would be happier.” 

“Wolffe is only the first,” she responded. “I’ll celebrate when they’re all free.” 

Rex initially thought she meant it was smartest not to relax their guard while Palpatine still lived, but then remembered the very real and deadly threat the Wolfpack posed to her immediate safety. Rex turned to the assembling officers and explained his plan, then ordered everyone to wait outside as he went into the command module with Echo and Wolffe. Rex stopped Commander Tano at the door. “You don’t need to be here, sir. We can handle him.” 

“There should be a Jedi present,” she said firmly, “just so we know.” 

Rex closed and locked the door behind them, then double-checked the seal on the other door. Wolffe and Echo removed their helmets and stood beside the holotable. Commander Tano kept to the shadows, far from Wolffe. Rex interposed himself between the two of them, remaining a respectful meter away from his commander as Echo inserted his dataspike into the holotable. Emperor Palpatine gave the order. A muscle jumped in Commander Tano’s jaw. Rex scrutinized Wolffe’s expression, but no sudden rage or shock twisted across his brother’s face. In fact, he seemed puzzled. 

After Echo cut the transmission, Wolffe said, “That’s it?” He looked from Commander Tano to Rex as if he expected them to contradict him. “But ... that was just his voice.” 

“We don’t know exactly how the chips work,” Echo said. “I’m sure Risso could give us real answers in a few days, but trust us, Wolffe: they work.” 

Wolffe glanced apprehensively at the empty holotable. “There’s no way it was accidentally copied to the databank, is there?” 

“No,” Echo said. “It’s just stored in my memory circuits.” 

“Sorry for calling you a science project.” 

Echo beamed, his smile too wide and brilliant to be genuine. “Actually, you called me a lab rat and accused me of treason. No hard feelings, though.” 

Wolffe’s brow contracted. “...Right. I’ll bring in the rest of the men, then.” 

The commanders of the Wolfpack’s two companies crowded around the deactivated holotable: two captains, eight lieutenants—Two-One stood in for Risso—a smattering of sergeants, and, unexpectedly, an ARC trooper with lieutenant-blue trim decorating his helmet and kama. Wolffe ordered the 104th’s helmets and comlinks to be left outside the command module; there was no hiding the dismay plastered on every face. 

“Alright,” Wolffe said. He barely raised his voice, but the module quieted instantly. “We have two hundred eighty-eight men on base. Our mission is to ensure as many as possible escape Sorgan with their minds intact. Two-One, how long will it take us to de-chip both companies?” 

“At twenty minutes a procedure—including prep—we’ll have the Wolfpack de-chipped in four standard days,” Two-One reported. 

“Without sleep deprivation, right?” Boost asked nervously. “The commander put me last, so...” 

“And now we know why,” Sinker joked. 

“Our medics will be working sixteen standard hours on and eight off,” Two-One told Wolffe. “Not the worst hours. We’ll get it done, sir.” 

“That’s the stuff,” Warthog said approvingly. 

Wolffe was unimpressed. “It’s already been almost three days since Order Sixty-Six. We’ve been fortunate to escape notice so far. Another four days will be pushing our luck.” 

“We can’t go any faster,” Two-One said. “We only have one medpod capable of delicate surgery.” 

“I know.” Wolffe turned to Commander Tano. “I assume your transport has a hyperdrive?” When she nodded, Wolffe asked, “How many would it hold?” 

“A hundred fifty,” Commander Tano said, evidently trusting Echo’s earlier estimate. “It’ll be a tight fit.” 

“So even if we did de-chip both companies in time, only half would be able to leave the planet anyway,” Boost said. 

“Half is better than none,” one of the sergeants said. 

“And all is better than half,” Wolffe shot back. “I’m not leaving any one of you _shabuire_ behind.” 

Rex felt a sudden rush of empathy. 

“Alright, one problem at a time,” Sinker said. “We all agree it’s only a matter of time before the Empire arrives, so we should assume they’ll come before we’re finished de-chipping the Hundred-Fourth. With just one hyperspace-capable ship, we have two options: we can fight them or we pretend we already received the Order and desert when we have the chance.” 

Everyone scowled. Like most clones, Rex had thought about life on the outside, but only if he received an honorable discharge. Years of indoctrination were hard to overcome; even three years into the war, clones like Cut remained rare exceptions. 

“Ahsoka says the Sith are slavers and conquerors,” Echo said. “If we even pretended to join the Empire, we would be complicit in Palpatine’s crimes.” 

“As if we weren’t already complicit in the Republic’s?” asked the ARC lieutenant. 

“This is different,” Echo snapped. “No one asked us if we wanted to serve the Republic. De-chipped clones have a choice to join the Empire.” 

“Pretending isn’t an option, anyway,” Rex added. “Any clones brainwashed by Order Sixty-Six will turn on clones who weren’t. We’ve seen it before. Besides, we have Commander Tano with us. The Empire isn’t giving any quarter to Jedi—even ex-Jedi.” 

“I could leave the base or camp somewhere else,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to force your hand.” 

“No,” Wolffe said. “We weren’t bred to run—or turn our backs on our Jedi. When the Empire comes, we’ll fight alongside you.” 

“I don’t expect anyone else to die for me,” she said. 

“We have a common enemy.” 

She inclined her head gravely. “Then I won’t let you down. Master Plo would expect nothing less of me.” 

Wolffe’s face crumpled at the mention of his general. “He wouldn’t want us to disappoint you, either.” Then, he cleared his throat and got back to business. “We’ll fight.” 

A low growl of agreement rumbled around the room. 

“Without the long-distance comms array, we’ll have to depend on the larties’ sensors to detect incoming starcraft,” Rex said. “What’s the range on those?” 

“From ground level, about a hundred fifty klicks,” Warthog said. “Assuming the Empire uses the same atmospheric entry procedures as the Republic, that gives us between five and ten minutes to scramble a response before they have troops on the ground.” 

“About two minutes, if they decide to bomb us from orbit,” Boost muttered darkly. 

Sinker punched his shoulder. “They have no reason to do that.” 

“As long as they think we’ve received the order,” Wolffe said. He scratched his scarred cheek. “We’ll need to lie to get them down here for a ground assault. They won’t train their heavy cannons on their own troops.” 

“We’ll put Tremor on the comms, then,” a sergeant said, nodding to the ARC lieutenant.

Tremor grinned. “Lying to my superiors? Why, that’s just my favorite thing...” 

“But what happens when they get here?” Boost demanded. “ _They_ won’t be droids. They’ll be our own brothers. We can’t just—” 

“They’ll be shooting to kill,” Rex snapped. “You should do the same.” 

Echo and Commander Tano glanced at him in clear alarm. 

“I killed more brothers than I want to think about just to get here,” Rex continued, his voice shaking, “but I did it so we could keep you and any other clone we could free of Sidious’ influence.” He impatiently wiped away a tear. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for my brothers.” 

_That’s what Slick said, too._

“We can’t help whoever comes to Sorgan,” Commander Tano said into the yawning silence, “not with the time and equipment we have. The only thing we can do is survive long enough to give this chance to others.” 

“Ahsoka is right,” Echo said. “This is not about our survival as much as the preserving the knowledge of the chips and how they can be removed. We’re staying alive so _all_ our brothers have a future.” 

The officers murmured unhappily, their armor clicking as they shifted from foot to foot. 

“Boost is right, too,” Echo continued. “We can’t plan to fight our brothers. The best we can do is plan a defense against a skilled, well-supplied, numerically superior force. We’ve all faced worse odds and come out on top.” 

“We should move the base,” Commander Tano said, her practical suggestion eviscerating the gloom permeating the command tent. “Move it, us, the medics, and the medpod to the other side of Sorgan—or even another habitable planet in the system. That way—” 

“The Empire could still home in on the transponders in all our equipment,” Warthog interrupted. “We’d have to disable the transponders on every panel of wall, all our blasters, our bunks, blankets, armor, ration containers, ammo clips ... it’d be a huge task and if we even missed one...” 

“Then move the chipped clones, medics, and medpod,” she suggested. “That reduces the number of transponders you would need to remove. More importantly, if the Wolfpack base gets Order Sixty-Six, you won’t be fighting your own.” 

“If the Empire showed up tomorrow, we would only have fifty or sixty clones on-base,” Wolffe said. “It might look suspicious. Like Boost said, the Empire could decide to bomb us instead of taking the risk—” 

“We’re overestimating the Empire,” said Tremor. He crossed his arms. “Now that the Jedi are dead, the Empire’s commanded by the nattie morons in the GAR officer corps. They aren’t going to count us before shunting us off to another battlefield.” 

“Not all the nat-borns are incompetent,” Rex warned, thinking of Yularen and Tarkin. 

“I like Commander Tano’s plan,” Two-One said, “since it keeps the medpod away from the location the Empire is most likely to target. That machine is tens of thousands of credits of top-of-the-line hardware. It would be almost impossible to get another one.” 

“Regarding Commander Tano, I had an idea,” Wolffe announced. “Sorgan’s civilians are still under threat from the seasonal storms. I could assign you platoon of de-chipped soldiers for rescue ops, operating from a base somewhere on Sorgan. We would use scramblers to hide your location; not even I would know where you were. If the Empire shows up, you would have an escort, transport, and a few hundred klicks head start.” 

It was a neat solution, but Rex waited for her to speak. 

“I appreciate you looking out for me,” she said, “but I won’t leave the base. I can’t help you from hundreds of klicks away and I won’t run if the base is attacked.” 

“You’re our only Jedi, sir,” Wolffe said. 

“I’m technically not a Jedi,” she said, “and I owe it to my command to keep the Wolfpack alive and free of the Empire. I’ll gladly lead rescue missions, but I will continue using the base.” 

“Yes, Commander.” 

“ _Ahsoka_ is fine.” 

“What about Clone Force Ninety-Nine?” Tremor asked. “They’ll be looking for Commander Tano and I’d bet my kama their ship has a cloaking device.” 

“It does,” Echo confirmed, “but Ahsoka nearly slotted Wrecker and Crosshair on Kashyyyk. Even bacta won’t put them on their feet inside a week. We—they’re accustomed to working as a unit. Hunter and Tech won’t chase us by themselves.” 

The muted discussions breaking out among the officers had taken on a notably brighter undertone. An actionable plan had galvanized everyone; the snatches Rex could catch were of timetables, resource allocation, and priority maintenance tasks. 

“Is everything settled then?” asked Comet. “We have a lot of materiel to move if we’re shifting bases.” 

“One last thing,” Echo said. “The Empire will probably beam Order Sixty-Six into our comms the moment they’re in orbit. If the transmission priority is high enough—” 

“It will be,” Rex said, shuddering at the memory. 

“—we won’t be able to block it,” Echo finished. “Do you have handheld comlinks in your inventory?” 

“A handful,” Wolffe said. “Enough for the command, anyway. I’ll tell the rest to disable their comlinks and HUD comms.” 

“I’m going to step out to contact our pilot,” Commander Tano announced. 

“Wait, Commander,” Wolffe said. “You shouldn’t walk around base without an escort until more clones have their chips removed.” 

“I’ll be outside,” she said, pointedly tapping the hilt of her _beskad_. “Keep me updated if anything changes.” 

Everyone except Tremor saluted her as she left. Rex wasn’t surprised; from Tremor’s unadorned armor, Rex guessed he was an Alpha ARC—one of the hundred Jango Fett had personally trained. They had a reputation for skirting laws and decorum, especially where Jedi were concerned. Rex would keep an eye on him. 

As Wolffe and his commanders began to discuss splitting their supplies, Echo stepped closer to Rex. “Is Ahsoka fit to command?” 

“Of course she is,” Rex muttered back. “She’s just a little shaken up.” 

“I don’t think she stepped out to call Captain Martez,” said Echo. “She didn’t look away from the door for our whole meeting.” 

“You can’t blame her,” Rex said. “Anyway, Jedi aren’t supposed to experience battle fatigue.” 

“Neither are we,” Echo pointed out. He didn’t continue. He didn’t need to. Rex picked up his helmet to go after her, but Echo held him back. “Just keep an eye on her. Like Wolffe said, we’ve only got one Jedi.” 

Then, Wolffe called Rex over to streamline a relocation strategy for the chipped Wolfpack. The night sky was soon awash with light as gunships mobilized, swooping over the camp to pick up supply crates or men before heading southeast. While undertaking a rescue op earlier in the week, a squad of 104th had stumbled upon a natural cavern concealed beneath a patch of dense forest; Boost swore up and down it was large enough to hide a camp from aerial reconnaissance. After the first wave of transports—including the bulk of the Wolfpack—had been evacuated, Wolffe took a LAAT/i with Commander Tano to pick up the Martezes, delegating the position of loadmaster to Rex in his absence. 

By the time the last module had lifted off—containing the surgical pod and half their medical supplies—Risso, Two-One, Boost, Tremor, Warthog, and two other pilots had been de-chipped. Eight out of two hundred eighty-eight was not much, but Rex reminded himself it was eight more than had been in the galaxy just a few hours ago. He watched the LAAT/i’s searchlights disappear into the darkness, then glanced back at the empty base. The light of Sorgan’s double moons was dimmed by the hazy clouds still scudding across the stars, but they still cast an eerie light on the motionless base. The de-chipping location was secret, so the Wolfpack had not taken any of the barracks modules, mess, or even a ’freshers. For them, it would a miserable few days of camping and cubed rats. 

But they would be safe—as safe as they could be, under the circumstances. Rex tried to squeeze out the breath he had been holding since he had emerged from his own surgical pod on his own Jedi cruiser, physically pressing against his plackart until his tender chest ached, but it was no use. Safety was still a long way away. 

Rex heard Wolffe’s LAAT/i returning long before he spotted it; the gunship’s pulsing engines preternaturally loud on a planet without speeder traffic. Rex sighed and walked over to the staging ground, hoping to catch the commanders before everyone turned in for the night. By the time he arrived, though, Wolffe was the only one there, still chatting with Warthog. Then, Warthog climbed into the pilot’s seat and flew off again, leaving Rex with his brother. 

Wolffe pulled off his helmet and tucked it beneath his arm. “I leave for ten minutes and it’s already a ghost town.” 

“Your boys work fast,” Rex said. “Where’s Commander Tano?” 

“With the Martezes,” Wolffe said. “Force, Rex, I knew you were desperate, but the Martezes are one small step up from career criminals.” 

“They’re dependable,” Rex argued. He had not known the Martezes for long, but underneath the bluster, he knew they were loyal. 

“And their ship is falling apart.” 

“I think there’s an adage about beggars and choosers, _Wolf’ika_.” 

Wolffe scowled reflexively at the diminutive. “Ah, shut up.” 

“I’m sorry about General Plo,” Rex said. “I wanted to break the news to you differently.” 

“Okay, I’m _ordering_ you to shut up.” 

“I’m a commander now, remember? We’re the same rank.” 

Wolffe’s scowl deepened to a snarl, then suddenly softened. Rex stayed on his guard; much like a loth-cat, Wolffe’s affection was closely intertwined with violence. “You must be pretty gutted.” 

“I’ve got Echo and Commander Tano,” Rex said. “Just like you had Boost, Sinker, and General Plo. And now we have each other.” 

“This is the part where you cry, not tell me how it’s getting better.” 

“Seriously, Wolffe, I’m fine. I’ve ... shed my share of tears.” 

Wolffe scuffed at the mud. “Do you ever think about the other half of your command? The ones that went to Coruscant?” 

Rex shuddered as he saw his brothers ringing the Jedi Temple on the HoloNews, Gree’s brothers mercilessly gunning down the Padawan on Kashyyyk, and struggled not to put the two together as a growing sense of nausea roiled in his gut. One day, he’d tell Wolffe, but it not now, not as the Empire pressed so close. “I ... I can’t.” 

“I saw some of mine in the holofilm Echo had of General Plo’s crash site,” Wolffe said, his voice hollow. “Nitro, Cage, and Tench have been with me since after the _Malevolence_. We were going to help Smoke desert—kid wanted to be a veterinarian. I knew the guys who would have been flying escort with General Plo, too ... Jag would have been the flight leader.” 

“There’s nothing you—we—could have done,” Rex said. “That—” 

“That’s not how the Kaminoans bred us to think, though,” Wolffe said. “We’re commanders. We were _made_ to look after our brothers.” 

Rex put an arm around his brother’s grey shoulders. Wolffe’s face was bone dry, which was even more concerning than if he were weeping. He was still in shock. “We’ll look after them, Wolffe. We’re not dead yet. We’ll get them de-chipped—” 

“You felt what the chip was like,” Wolffe said, his voice hoarse. “So tell me: If you had killed Ahsoka or General Skywalker before your chip was removed, would you want forgiveness?” 

“I’ve killed brothers with my chip out,” Rex said finally, “and as much as I hate myself for it, I don’t think I’m beyond hope.” 

Wolffe nodded absently, his eyes unseeing. Then, he sniffed and suddenly lowered his shoulder, driving it into Rex’s chest. Rex had been anticipating this and stepped aside, receiving only a glancing blow. 

“Like you said, it’s you and me together again,” Wolffe said. “Palpatine doesn’t stand a chance now.” He groaned. “Force, we’ll have to fight the Corrie Guard on their home turf. Fox was _already_ crazy and the chip—” 

“I don’t want to talk about Fox,” Rex said. 

Wolffe let Rex’s words hang in the moist air like a poised spear as he surveyed his empty camp, his grim enthusiasm gone as soon as it had appeared. “Do you know what happened to anyone else in our command class?” 

“Bly killed himself. Yoda killed Gree.” Rex kept it short, as if he were reading dispatches. Each sentence was a tragedy. “Cody failed to kill General Kenobi. I don’t know about the others.” 

Wolffe turned back to him. “Cody failed? I thought General Kenobi was dead.” 

“He is, but Cody didn’t kill him,” Rex clarified. Seeing the white bandage on his brother’s scalp coaxed the tiniest hope out of Rex’s heart. 

“Next stop, Utapau, then,” Wolffe promised. “We’re going to get our brother back—all our brothers back. If it took three million clones to kill ten thousand Jedi, I bet the same number will blast Sidious into jelly.” Wolffe slapped Rex on the backplate, right on his knife wound. Rex bit back a curse. “You can’t hide from me. I’ve been watching you favor that shoulder all day. Need some bacta? I’ve only got about a thousand gallons of the stuff...” 

Rex gratefully limped to the medbay to slather a fresh layer of bacta onto his battered body. He found Echo there already, evidently having had the same idea. Risso had stayed with the base; he dispensed painkillers and sent them on their way. The two of them immediately went to the command module, where Wolffe was holding a war council with the de-chipped members of his command. 

Wolffe saw Rex standing in the door and growled, “Oh no, you don’t. Get out of here.” 

“We want to help,” Rex insisted. 

“You’re no help to me dead,” Wolffe said. “Go get drunk— _messy_ drunk—and sleep it off for a full eight standard. Then I’ll let you back in.” 

Irritated, Rex said, “But you just—” 

Wolffe slammed the door in Rex’s face. The deadbolt clunked shut a moment later. 

“I’m sure he’ll be along later,” Echo said. “Want to get that drink?” 

Ten minutes later, they were sitting on the command module’s roof, two bottles of the local liquor glowing between them. The bottles literally _glowed_. Rex eyed his suspiciously. It was a far cry from the murky _ne’tra gal_ he usually ordered at 79’s. 

“First in, last out,” Echo joked, and swigged the drink. 

“How is it?” Rex asked. 

Echo wiped his mouth. “You’re not going to believe me, but it tastes like ... crustaceans.” 

His curiosity piqued, Rex took a cautious sip. Echo was right; beneath the harsh burn of liquor was a sweet, creamy undercurrent of shrimp. Somehow, it worked. 

“So, how much do you think we’ll need to get messy drunk?” Echo asked. 

“Considering we didn’t eat anything first,” Rex said, “not long.” He swirled the liquor, took another slug, then set it down. “The Empire could arrive any minute. What the hell is Wolffe thinking? We can’t just sit here and drink! We need to—” 

“That’s his point, Rex,” Echo said, lying flat on his back. “If the Empire arrives right now, at this very moment, we’re dead anyway. Mind as well blow off some steam first.” 

Rex conceded the point by taking another drink and lying down beside Echo, folding his hands on his stomach. The cold puddle on the roof sent a cool shock from his scalp down his spine. He stared up at the stars; the stars stared back, cold and brilliant. Insects stridulated in the bushes and a breeze murmured through the trees, splattering residual rain onto the rooftop. 

“Did you see Ahsoka?” Echo asked. 

Rex gestured to the northern half of camp. “She’s over there, probably with the Martezes.” 

“Did you talk to her?” 

Rex frowned. Strange, he hadn’t actually seen her, but he was certain he would find her if he headed in that direction. The camp was small, though; he would find her no matter what direction he chose. “No. I didn’t have the chance.” 

“Shell-shocked or not, I’m glad she’s our Jedi,” Echo said. “No offense to General Skywalker. If Sidious is as powerful as Ahsoka says, General Skywalker would have personally led the two of us in a suicidal frontal attack on the Senate Building and gotten us killed for the trouble.” 

Rex snorted. “Yeah, probably, but at least we wouldn’t be alive to see this mess.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“Not anymore.” The Wolfpack wasn’t free yet, but the promise of it lightened his heart. “Facing impossible odds and incredibly powerful enemies with no supplies? Sounds like just another day in the Five-Oh-First. I felt guilty Commander Tano only saved my life, but if not for her, I wouldn’t be here to see this.” 

“Give yourself some credit.” 

“Echo, she was trapped on a ship in hyperspace with Maul and all of the Three-Thirty-Second against her. Less than two standard hours later, both of us were standing on solid ground with a hyperspace-capable ship. She found us a safe haven and reliable transport, and she destroyed the Bad Batch and the Forty-First—all without a lightsaber.” Rex shook his head. “It was all I could do to keep up.” 

“You found me,” Echo pointed out. “Without the two of us, Ahsoka wouldn’t be _here_.” 

“Alright, I suppose I did one thing.” 

“Five-Oh-First boys: one. Jedi: infinity.” 

“Two,” Rex said, “because of Fives.” 

A ghost of a smile flitted around Echo’s face. “Yeah. Crazy _shabuir_.” 

“I wanted to apologize—” 

“I’m not Fives,” Echo said interrupted. “Don’t we always complain the nat-borns treat us as interchangeable?” 

Rex flinched. “Well, yes, but I feel like I owe it to his brother to say it out loud.” 

“We’re _all_ brothers,” Echo said, gesturing to himself and the rest of the Wolfpack. “Look, from what it sounds like, Fives knew convincing you would be a long shot without any proof. He told you what he knew and you paid him back by putting together the datafile that Ahsoka needed to hear. If you want me to tell you what Fives would have said, fine. I know he’s cheering you on from the Force or the _manda_ or whatever you believe in. They all are. You don’t need to apologize to them for surviving—thank them by living.” 

_We can’t die._

Rex couldn’t—not now. He still accepted his mortality, as he always had, but now it was different. He had a responsibility to live and to keep others alive that superseded any rules or laws or galactic games between Sith. 

Some of the weight he had been carrying since he watched his cruiser flame through the atmosphere dissipated. Their names would be burned on his heart forever, as would the names of everyone he had ever known—brothers and Jedi—but they would burn like a fire rather a brand, like millions of hands pushing him forward. 

_Live, because they never got to._

“The Five-Oh-First never goes down without a fight,” Rex agreed. 

They clinked their bottles together and watched the moons rise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m blending Legends and canon in that there are Alpha ARCs in addition to cross-trained ones like Echo or Jesse. Alpha ARCs are physically different because they got extra growth hormones and culturally different because they were trained by Jango himself. Also, to peel back the curtain a bit, I wanted to show some diversity re: clone attitudes towards Jedi and ARCs already have that reputation.


	13. At the Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter TW** : descriptions of a panic attack and dissociation

**Wolfpack FOB, Sorgan  
54.0 hours after Order 66**

Ahsoka controlled her panic until she was out of the command module. Then, her breath came in heaving gasps and she had to brace herself against the wet durasteel as the aftershocks of fear trembled down her legs. She knew these clones would not hurt her, but rationality would not overcome Sidious’ three-word command if it was issued _now_ or _right now_ or _at this very second_ — 

She inhaled sharply and straightened up. It was not the Jedi way to be ruled by fear. There were 288 lives hanging in the balance and she would save them with an open heart, not one shadowed by dread. 

Ahsoka pulled out her comlink and briefed the Martezes—specifically, on their vital part in everyone’s survival. Trace was understanding and determined, Rafa disgruntled, and Ahsoka agreed to pick them up at the Wolfpack’s earliest convenience. In the meantime, the base had erupted into a flurry of activity. Ahsoka quickly finished her call and informed Wolffe of her plans. He and Rex seemed to have the logistics well in hand, so Ahsoka loitered in the landing zone as she waited for an available gunship. She assisted the clones with the heavier loads and, in return, received thanks more profuse than the situation warranted. Perhaps they were thanking her for something else, too. 

Half an hour later, a LAAT/i descended in front of her. Wolffe was already standing in the troop bay. 

“I’m coming with you,” he announced. “I need to meet who we’re staking our lives on.” 

“I understand,” Ahsoka said. She paused with one foot on the running board. “Wait. We shouldn’t let any chipped clones know where—” 

“Warthog’s de-chipped,” Wolffe said. “We’re safe.” 

Her fears assuaged—the most pressing ones, at least—Ahsoka stepped aboard and grabbed the overhead strap adjacent to Wolffe. As they lifted off, he shut the blast doors, silencing the wind that would have otherwise whistled through the troop bay. Ahsoka assumed that meant Wolffe wanted to talk, but the commander remained silent. Cautiously, she reached out to him through the Force and immediately flinched; his impression was one of a freshly-captured animal, furiously hurling himself against the bars of disbelief and denial. Wolffe had not seen Order 66 with his own eyes. From Sorgan, he could only process the horror from words alone. In a rush of empathy, Ahsoka wished she and Rex and Echo could have somehow broken the news is a kinder way, at the same time she knew they lacked the patience, emotional fortitude, and eloquence to do so. Understanding Order 66 was like trying to understand the number of stars the galaxy; the crushing enormity of it was simply beyond comprehension. 

“Comm—Ahsoka,” Wolffe said at last. “When this is over ... we should visit Cato Nemoidia together.” 

Another dead friend, another flood of grief; Ahsoka’s throat felt as though it was filled with molten durasteel. She swallowed hard and said, “For Jedi, the body is inconsequential. We return to the Living Force, to be renewed again and again until the end of the galaxy.” 

“I thought you burned your dead.” 

“Only when it’s safe to do so,” she said. “Master Plo wouldn’t want us to risk our lives for a proper burial.” 

Very faintly, beneath the sound of the engine, it sounded like Wolffe’s breathing had hitched. “I can’t ... I can’t leave him. Not like that.” 

Ahsoka hadn’t looked at the holo of Master Plo. She was already struggling to stay afloat; seeing his corpse would have pushed her under. Her mind’s eye still provided her with every gory detail of the Kel Dor master’s demise. “He ... he would understand.” 

“Rex warned you,” Wolffe said. There was no hiding his misery now; his helmet microphone amplified every sob. “I could have warned General Plo. I could have saved—” 

“We can’t change the past,” Ahsoka said, suddenly exhausted. Wolffe fell silent again and Ahsoka realized how callous she sounded. “I ... know what you’re feeling. I can’t stop replaying every moment where I could have saved anyone or even the whole Republic, but I couldn’t, so I didn’t.” _And it’s crushing me._ “I try to take comfort in the people I have saved. Master Plo would have wanted us both to survive.” 

“We can’t let him down, then,” Wolffe snarled, his voice still thick. “The moment we’re off this rock, I’m going straight for Palpatine’s throat. We can’t let him consolidate power.” 

“I agree,” Ahsoka said, “but it took three years, the full Jedi Council, three million clones, and our strongest Knight to defeat Dooku. We’re the resistance now. We’ll need to link up with other cells if we want to stand a chance.” 

“Rebels?” Wolffe asked suspiciously. “As in ... ex-Separatists?” 

Ahsoka explained Lux’s alliance and Wolffe listened, his infrequent questions reflecting increasing dubiousness in the success of a rebellion organized by senators. A few minutes later, they touched down in the clearing outside the _Silver Angel_. Ahsoka debarked first to indicate it was safe—for both parties—and made the necessary introductions. Wolffe measured the _Silver Angel’s_ cargo bay and argued briefly with Trace about smuggler’s holds, then with Rafa about ... something. Ahsoka couldn’t focus for long enough to parse words from the racket. The cumulative effects of several days without sleep were crashing onto her like a stunned bantha; it was she could do to keep herself upright. 

The skies had darkened to true night by the time they returned to the Wolfpack camp. Ahsoka and the Martezes were all injured and filthy and starving, and decided that was the order in which they would address their needs. Ahsoka and Rafa—with Trace cheerfully tagging along—first headed to the medbay and deposited themselves into Risso’s care. The redheaded CMO was kinder than Kix and gentler than Coric, but Ahsoka still missed her old medics berating her for the consequences of yet another idiotic Jedi stunt. 

Then, it was off to the shower block for a luxuriously long soak. Rafa and Trace whooped in delight as steaming hot water shot from the showerheads. Ahsoka flipped on the shower—missing the lever twice—and sagged against the slick tiles. Her mind spiraled into the timeless greyscale eternity between grief and exhaustion as the water beat a numbing tempo into her montrals. 

“I _really_ should have enlisted.” Rafa sighed as she ratcheted up the temperature. “Steady pay, hot water, hot clones...” 

Trace laughed scornfully. “You? Getting bossed around all the time? You’d hate it!” 

“You underestimate what I’d do for water pressure like this,” Rafa said. “I think I’ve lost two layers of skin already.” 

“Wait till you try the rations,” Ahsoka warned, reflecting their smiles back at them. “There’s a reason clones call them _cubed rats_.” 

“Can’t be worse than duracrete slug,” Trace said, ever optimistic. 

“I ... didn’t know those things were even edible.” 

“As I always say, hunger is the best seasoning,” Rafa said. 

“You didn’t make that saying up,” Trace argued. 

“No, but since I can’t remember who did, it’s mine now. Yes, I know what copyright is. You lost this debate before it even started.” 

Ahsoka and Trace rolled their eyes at each other. Then, Ahsoka leaned further back into the boiling water, letting it score razor-sharp lines into her aching back. Her blaster burn still throbbed, but now it was wrapped in a waterproof bacta patch. Risso said she would heal in a day or two. Ahsoka hoped that was fast enough. 

Rafa sloshed over to the mirrors and wiped her hand over the fogged surface, scrunching her face to examine the healing welt on her cheek. 

“The hot medic said it was going to scar,” Rafa said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

Trace joined her sister in front of the mirror. “Huh. Makes you look kind of ... scoundrel-y.” 

Rafa’s Force signature bloomed. “You think so?” 

“Oh, yeah. The Outer Rim girls are gonna be all over you.” 

“It’s nothing they haven’t seen before,” Ahsoka teased, but Rafa’s mood had already swollen past the constraints of humility. Rafa spun around on her heels, aiming her fingers like guns at Ahsoka as she grinned cockily. 

“Save it for the clones,” Ahsoka said, unmoved. 

“Normally I’d agree with you,” Rafa said, “but I’ve got more important things to do. Wolffe told me clones aren’t classed as sentient. They don’t even know their rights.” She propped her hands on her hips. “I’ve got a week to fix that.” 

Ahsoka turned off the water. “I admire your resolve, but don’t think we’ll be on Sorgan that long. The Empire is a very real threat to—” 

“Oh, spare us!” Rafa cried, kicking water at Ahsoka. “Jedi and clones aren’t the only beings in the galaxy who regularly risk their lives. We _know_ it’s dangerous. And, yeah, we know it’s ‘more dangerous than anything we’ve experienced before’, or whatever you were going to tell us.” 

“What Rafa is trying to say,” Trace said, exasperated but smiling, “is that the _Silver Angel_ is the only way anyone can leave Sorgan. That means we’re staying. We can’t just let people die or become enslaved by an evil Sith.” 

“I mean, we _could_ ,” Rafa said, “but we choose not to. It’s ... not what our parents would want us to do.” Trace glared at her and she hastily added, “It’s not what I want to do, either.” 

Ahsoka felt a sudden rush of affection for the both of them. By the Force, she had missed having friends her own age. 

“Thank you,” Ahsoka said, fighting back tears. “I owe you one.” 

“You owe us two-hundred-eighty-eight-ish,” Rafa fired back. 

“We owe you nothing,” Trace refuted. “Like Rafa said, we’re doing the right thing.” 

Her brown eyes sparkled with adoration and Ahsoka turned away to hide a sudden rise of color in her lekku. It hardly helped that all three of them were naked and Ahsoka had noticed Trace was built along the sleek, powerful lines of an ARC-170. 

“Thank you,” Ahsoka repeated, wrapping her towel under her arms. “Let’s get out of here. Rat cubes or not, I’m starving.” 

Fortunately, they didn’t need to suffer Republic rations. The Sorganese had been repaying the Wolfpack with food and the 104th’s cooks had been experimenting for the better part of a week. The empty mess was stocked with the previous day’s “Geonosis krill”—likely named because it was orange and unbearably hot. Ahsoka enjoyed it, but Rafa took her first bite and immediately vaulted across the table for her water, coughing furiously as Trace roared with laughter. Ahsoka knew she should laugh, too, but it was choked back by a swell of despair. Everything was working out. Why did she feel like they stood on the knife edge of disaster? 

Trace and Ahsoka left the mess together, leaving Rafa to trounce Warthog and Corvis at the sabacc table. As they walked through camp, Ahsoka sighted Rex and Echo sitting on the command module roof, laughing as they shared a bottle of spotchka. Their faces were ruddy in the lantern light, joy and safety and _family_ radiating off them in physical waves. Rex cocked his head as if receiving a transmission and looked up, meeting her eye. Ahsoka waved to him and he waved back, bracing himself as if he were going to jump down, but she hurried after Trace, ducking her head to hide her tears. 

With almost all the Wolfpack off-base, Ahsoka and the Martez sisters had a barracks module to themselves. Its usual inhabitants had left it spotless, if personalized by Twi’lek pinups, anti-Separatist graffiti, and the enduring scents of standard-issue soap and sweaty clones. Trace mumbled her goodnights and climbed onto a bunk close to the door. Ahsoka leaned her _beskad_ against the wall, kicked off her boots, and slammed onto the rock-hard mattress beneath Trace. 

Tomorrow would be better. All she had to do was fall asleep. 

Ahsoka lay on her back, her hands folded beneath her head as she stared at the mattress above. A few minutes later, she wriggled under the scratchy blanket and closed her eyes, but her mind needled her with fresh adrenaline every time Trace shifted or someone walked by outside. All the clones here had had their chips removed—so far, twelve men—but the Imperials could show up at any second... 

The door slid open and Ahsoka instinctively reached for her lightsabers, grasping only air as she rolled out of bed and crouched in the shadows. Rafa ambled into the barracks, humming to herself. The knot in Ahsoka’s stomach relaxed and she rose to her feet, but Rafa had already collapsed onto an empty bunk. Rough snores sawed through the air a moment later. 

Rafa and Trace were here, at least. Rex was still about a hundred meters away, probably with Echo and near Wolffe; Ahsoka estimated it would take her maybe five minutes to gather everyone together. They should head for the rear gate, towards the more thickly forested side of the hill. From there, it would be a ten klick sprint to the _Silver Angel_. The Force would surely warn Ahsoka before the Imperials arrived, but her connection had been badly damaged. What if she only had half a minute’s notice? What if it was just a millisecond? What if there was no warning at all? 

Ahsoka surged upright, then forced herself to sit back down on the edge of her bunk, resting her elbows on her drawn-up knees and dropping her head into her hands as sheer panic threatened to swamp her. She had to escape. She wasn’t safe, not here, not— _no_ , this was the safest a Jedi could ever be. Ahsoka laid back down and closed her eyes. 

She was fleeing for her life through a gloomy, mist-choked world. The boots of her pursuers pounded behind her, their breath coming in ragged gasps as they closed in on their prey. Fear hastened Ahsoka’s stride, even as her armor grew heavier and the stitch in her side more agonizing. Suddenly, she tripped over her own feet, plowing helmet-first into the loam. Someone was coming; she scrambled behind a red fern and peered through its glowing fronds at the passing figure. 

He was a clone pilot, his Mark I visor glowing in the permanent twilight. A distant emerald explosion illuminated his unique helmet. 

“Matchstick!” she called as she emerged from her hiding place. Matchstick had died on her first sortie, but he could live forever in her dreams. “I’m so glad you—” 

Matchstick wheeled around, the mouth painted onto his helmet stretching wide, the teeth sharpening into real fangs glistening with saliva. He threw his head back and shrieked like a Trandoshan. Hundreds of snarls answered him from the shadows. 

Ahsoka leapt forward, wrapping her arms around Matchstick’s jaws to silence him. Matchstick seized her shoulders and slammed her to the ground, then pinned her beneath his heel. She tried shoving him away with the Force, but nothing emerged from her black-gloved hands. Matchstick laced his claws together and brought them down on her head. Her vision went white, then red, and she grabbed his boot, struggling to twist away as her montrals cracked under the blow, but Matchstick’s foot pressed down with the crushing weight of a gunship and he smashed her face again and again and again but she couldn’t die because she had promised she wouldn’t and a human hand was reaching out to grab her and she lashed out with the Force, sending Tremor through five bunks and into the far wall. 

Ahsoka sprinted to his side, covering the distance in two Force-assisted steps. 

“Tremor!” she cried, easing off his helmet. “Tremor, are you...?” 

One of his pupils was larger than the other and his curly hair was matted with blood. 

“ _Shab_ , that hurt,” he gasped, “but ... but nothing bacta can’t fix.” 

Risso confirmed Tremor’s diagnosis after Trace and Rafa had helped Ahsoka bring Tremor to the medbay. “Concussion and a cracked scapula. He’s had worse.” 

Ahsoka and Risso watched the med droid lowered an unconscious, half-naked Tremor into the bacta tank. She was surprised to see that both of Tremor’s legs were amputated below the knee and he wore a spinal stimulator; perhaps that was why an ARC lieutenant had been stationed all the way out here. 

“That doesn’t excuse my actions,” Ahsoka said. Everything was supposed to have been _better_. Instead, she had seriously injured one of the few de-chipped clones—and an ARC, no less. 

“How much have you slept since the order?” Risso asked. 

Ahsoka tried to count. She had snatched maybe six hours on Onderon, then a few more during the jump to Sorgan—all blessedly dreamless times. “Ten, maybe twelve standard hours.” 

“Would you like a sedative?” 

“No,” she said immediately. “The Empire could show up at any minute.” 

“You could sleep here. I’ll administer the reversal if—” 

“ _No._ I can rely on the Force for stamina,” she said. “Did the rescue team take off without me?” 

Tremor had been sent to find her after she had slept through the rendezvous time. 

“Even Squad already left, but Vhek Squad will be rolling out soon,” Risso said. “I cleared them a few minutes before you came in.” 

“You’ve been busy,” Ahsoka said. “You should sleep, too.” 

“Able will relieve me in a few hours, but I can’t rest until the Wolfpack’s de-chipped.” He glanced at her. “I think you can understand that, sir.” 

“Of course,” she replied, her features carefully blank. “I also want the best for the men.” 

“About that...” Risso gestured at the bank of machines in front of him. “These are only telling me how the chips work, not why. I thought it might be more of your area of expertise.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Can you feel the chips being activated? In the Force?” 

“Yes.” She struggled to detangle information from the horror of the experience. “It feels like ... betrayal. I had served with these men for ages, but suddenly they saw me as a target. And—” Her voice caught “—sometimes I would sense their confusion, too, like they knew what they were doing, but they couldn’t fight it.” 

Risso typed on his datapad. “Does it feel like—I don’t know how else to say it—like the Dark Side? Is that the right term? I don’t know much about the Force.” 

“No, you’re right,” Ahsoka said, impressed by his thoroughness. “The Dark Side surrounds everything about the chip, but I’m not sure if it’s chips themselves or because they served a larger Sith plot.” 

“Alright.” He checked his chrono. “You should grab something from the mess. Vhek Squad is deploying in fifteen standard minutes.” She turned to go and he said, “Could we talk about this again? It must be tough, but—” 

“Saving lives is more important,” she said. “I’ll write up what I remember and bring it to you tomorrow.” 

Ahsoka got breakfast and made her way to the staging ground, ration bar in one hand and datapad with Vhek Squad’s orders in the other. A hurricane was projected to blow through a nearby chain of islands within the next standard day; Ahsoka’s duty was to assist with the evacuation and reinforce the village’s storehouse. Vhek Squad was waiting for her in a LAAT/i parked along the northern perimeter. When she approached, they stood at attention, their hands snapping up to their fresh bandages. 

“I’m a civilian,” she reminded them. 

“Not according to Captain Rex,” said a clone with chevrons on his armor, “and I don’t want to tangle with him while he’s hungover. I’m Sergeant Venture. Glad to have you with us, sir—in more ways than one.” 

If Venture knew the real reason she had been assigned to him at the last minute, he gave no sign. “Thanks, Venture. I’ve delayed you long enough. Let’s stack some sandbags.” 

As the LAAT/i lifted off, Venture introduced her to the rest of the squad. They were batch brothers, so they had chosen a naming scheme: Villain, Van, Veer, Voltage, Vito, Vimmer, Vertigo, and—

“Vomit, ma’am,” the last clone said. Grey paint was unevenly splattered across his breastplate. 

“Do I want to know?” she asked. 

“No, ma’am, you do not.” 

Vhek Squad was an enthusiastic bunch and they readily incorporated her into their plan before they arrived at the village. Then, they spent a long day in the rain, hauling sandbags, repairing broken transports, boarding up houses, and evacuating civilians. On remote, peaceful Sorgan, Ahsoka could pretend this was just another rescue op. It was what she had hoped the end of the war would be like, in truth—a clear goal, lives saved, her brothers at her sides, and, most importantly, everyone going home at the end of the day. 

As the light faded, they loaded into the gunship and sped back to camp. Ahsoka was holding onto an overhead strap and chatting with Vimmer about tank modifications when she heard the faint buzz of incoming comms emitting from Venture’s handheld comlink—and, suddenly, she _felt_ their focus shift to her. There were nine of them. They were armed. There was nowhere to go. 

She leapt for the open bay doors. 

“Whoa, where are you going?” Vimmer asked, grabbing her arm. 

Something in her expression made him let go the moment she turned around, but her paranoia had already passed. “S—sorry. Is Wolffe contacting us?” 

“He wanted to know our ETA,” Venture confirmed. “Are you alright?” 

They had almost watched her jump several klicks out of a flying LAAT/i. She couldn’t bluster her way out of this—but, then again, clones were fairly tolerant of Jedi weirdness. “Fine. I’m fine.” 

They didn’t question her further, but she sensed their confusion. 

There was no time to dwell; Ahsoka got five minutes in the mess—where Rafa was giving the clones a crash course in civil law—before Sinker whisked her away to pour over galactic star charts with Trace, Rex, Echo, and the de-chipped officers in Wolffe’s command. As Wolffe had predicted, hiding almost three hundred identical deserters was not an easy prospect. Locations were suggested based on proximity of Imperial forces, remoteness, climate, and local sapients; the clones couldn’t disappear without a substantial human population. 

They hammered out a shortlist of a twenty potential planets and adjourned for the evening. Ahsoka returned to barracks to catch up with Trace—who had been fixing the _Angel_ with the Wolfpack mechanics—but Trace soon fell asleep. Instead, Ahsoka curled up beside her to write down everything she remembered about the Sith. 

After of several hours and a meditative session to improve her recall, Ahsoka had less than five thousand words. There was an entire wing of the Temple library dedicated to the Sith, containing thousands upon thousands of holobooks and dozens of holocrons, but all Ahsoka could remember about the beings who had destroyed her life—her culture, her family—was a pitiful five thousand words. Disgusted, she tossed her datapad aside. 

Somehow, somewhere, Ahsoka caught a few hours of sleep between the nightmares. She awoke before dawn to the muted roar of rain on the module roof. Trace stirred without waking. All Ahsoka could think was that a storm would be excellent cover for incoming ships. 

It was easier to keep moving than sink into whatever awaited her in the dark. Ahsoka volunteered for another rescue, hoping the bone-deep exhaustion of manual labor would pare the sharp edges off her nerves, but they only sharpened as time went on. It felt like the Force was warning her about impending danger, except she knew it wasn’t the Force and she couldn’t shut it off, couldn’t stop thinking about the Empire or her dead masters or how every friendly, familiar face was one command away from killing her. 

Returning to camp did not soothe her. Over half the Wolfpack had been de-chipped and sent back, filling the base with noise and life once again. The clones stopped her to proudly display their bandages. Ahsoka could barely look them in the eye. 

She was a listless participant in the evening’s meeting. Afterward, Trace went for a LAAT/i flying lesson with Warthog and Rafa was hustling Wolffe, Echo, and Tremor at sabacc, so Ahsoka went for a walk. There was nowhere to go inside the camp; Ahsoka climbed the perimeter fence, evaded the sentries, and sat atop the wall, letting her feet dangle as she looked up at the stars. 

The sky was clear for the first night since her arrival, the stars sparkling against the darkness like kyber crystals in the caves of Ilum. Sorgan’s twin moons were rising high into the night, their brilliance outshining the fainter stars. The day’s humidity had lingered, transforming a cool evening into a comfortable one. The air had a pleasant organic weight to it, heavy as it was with insects and voices and starlight and the smell of wet earth. 

Ahsoka closed her eyes, folding her legs beneath her. The calls of Sorgan’s nocturnal animals, the stink of cooked krill, and even the sensation of cold durasteel on her backside faded away as she lowered herself into the Force. She needed solace, but the only thing the Force offered was oblivion. The vast _absence_ she had felt on Sorgan had not diminished. Time, it seemed, had healed neither it nor her. On Kashyyyk and while searching for Anakin in the aftermath of the Order, she had reached deeper by drawing on her anger, but she was too enervated to even consider replicating the feat. Heartsick and weary, she withdrew long before she sensed Sidious lurking in the depths. 

It had only been four or five standard days since Order 66, but each hour felt like another step away from her teachings. Ahsoka had been ruled by hatred and conquered by fear, nearly injuring herself and her friends in the process. But worst of all, as everything was torn away, she knew she was digging her fingers into the few things remaining. Force, she was so terrified all the time—was it so evil to cling to her master, to happier memories, to Rex? 

In that moment, Ahsoka understood Anakin. The Hero with No Fear had always been afraid; his attachments had been the fire deep within him, the light that threw his best and worst qualities into sharp relief. But even stars died and Anakin Skywalker had burnt out like the rest, leaving Ahsoka to scavenge a future from his ashes. 

She was seventeen years old. She had been a soldier—a commander—since she was fourteen. She had voluntarily left the Jedi Order, rediscovered her purpose, and tried to return, only to watch that door slam in her face with morbid finality. There was only one path ahead of her. She could only hope the Force gave her enough strength to follow it. 

Rex sat beside her, letting a companionable silence stretch between them. Ahsoka automatically drew on him, losing herself in a well of self-control, certainty, and patience. He still mourned, but his brothers had scabbed over his ragged grief and planted a fresh seed of hope. At the root of that confidence was faith: faith in himself, his brothers, and in _her_. 

That stung. 

Ahsoka opened her eyes and rolled her neck until it cracked. She cast around for a nonchalant greeting, finally settling on, “It’s a nice night.” 

“Now that it’s not raining, for once,” Rex said, his voice tinged with disgust. “I saw enough rain on Kamino to last a lifetime.” 

Ahsoka couldn’t muster another conversational topic for the life of her; she let his words hang unanswered. 

“I haven’t seen you for a few days,” Rex said. 

“We just saw each other at the strategy meeting,” she said. 

“You didn’t say much.” 

“I’m tired.” 

“I know you don’t know if you’re a Jedi or not, but the men think you are,” Rex said. “They’re looking up to you, sir. They’re worried.” 

“So Wolffe sent you up here to make sure the Jedi was fully operational?” 

Rex scowled. “That’s not true and you know it.” 

He was right, but his palpable concern was anathema. She suddenly wanted him to leave her alone. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll be more present.” 

“Your squads had nothing but good things to report,” Rex said, “but Risso told me what happened to Tremor. Venture said you almost jumped out of a gunship.” 

“We’re only on Sorgan for a few more days. I can keep it together until then.” 

“You’re hardly the first soldier to feel this way,” Rex said, his words pitched maddeningly low, as if he were speaking to a spooked animal. “It’ll be easier if you get it off your chest.” 

“It’s easier if I focus on what comes next,” she snapped. 

“Our relocation?” 

She looked up at the wide band of the galaxy swelling overhead. “If Echo’s right, there could be five hundred Jedi out there, scattered among the stars. It’ll be a big job bringing them in.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“After you get settled on your new planet, I’m going to leave.” 

As she spoke those words, her scattered ideas and half-baked plans clicked into place as a nostalgic heat flared in her chest. The Force was telling her that she was on the right path. 

“You don’t need to,” Rex said. 

“I don’t think the other Jedi will—” 

“Our base will be safe enough for you to bring Jedi back with you.” 

Ahsoka blinked, so blindsided that her mind skipping right over the fact Rex apparently believed she was leaving to keep the Wolfpack safe. “ _Base_?” 

“You said so yourself that it was our duty to outlive the Empire,” Rex said. “I don’t intend to do that from inside a bunker.” 

A creeping suspicion took root in her mind, born from the long hours Rex, Wolffe, and Echo had been sequestered in the command tent while she had been on rescue ops. 

“You can’t be serious,” Ahsoka said. The warmth of her Force-asserted certainty seeped away, only to be replaced by anger. It was better than terror, better than despair, better than the gulf of grief and loss at her very core. Anger, at least, had an outlet. It had an end. “There are _three hundred_ of you. You don’t have supply depots or ships or even _credits_ , let alone—” 

“You were standing with me outside of Iziz,” Rex said. “We both watched the Empire shell civilians without a second thought. How many times do you think that scene is going to repeat in the next month? Or the next year?” 

“I thought you would try to save the clones still under the Empire’s control,” Ahsoka said. “That will be a full-time job on its own.” 

“We’re used to the workload,” Rex said dismissively. “We can do both. Besides, after we link up with the other rebels, we’ll have credits and ships.” 

Ahsoka chased her anger to its core, struggling to pin down the source. “But you’ve been soldiers since you were born. This is your chance to start over and you want to go back?” 

“It’s what I was made for,” he said staunchly. 

“You were _made_ to kill Jedi.”

Rex flinched, a painful chord resonating deep in his chest. Ahsoka felt it, too, and her stupid, misplaced anger and jealousy instantly evaporated. 

“I’m sorry,” Ahsoka said. “I’m sorry. That was cruel.” 

“It’s ... an important distinction,” he said slowly. “Maybe we were made for Sidious, but he didn’t lead us or die for us the way the Jedi did. Thanks to you, I’m _choosing_ to fight the Empire. You are, too. It’s who we are.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “We could use your leadership, Commander.” 

Conviction rang through the Force with every word, each one a blow to Ahsoka’s heart. She gripped the wall, her throat aching as she tried to hold back her rising grief. She couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she picked a star in the sky and forced each word out. “I can’t stop seeing the Three-Thirty-Second in the Wolfpack. I don’t think ... I can’t work with clones.” 

“Are you ... afraid of me?” 

There was a galaxy of pain and fear wrapped up in that simple question. A dark voice told her to lie, told her to tell him that she couldn’t stand to be near him. That would push him away for good and she would finally be free of attachment, finally become the perfect Jedi she had always wanted to be. 

But she couldn’t do that to Rex. She put a hand on his shoulder, wishing she could actually touch him instead of cold plastoid. “No. Never.” 

His relief was immediately swamped by resolve. Loyalty _was_ everything to clones, and none more so than Rex. “Then I’ll come with you.” 

“You just found your brothers,” Ahsoka said. “You should stay with them, not chase rumors across the galaxy. I can’t ask that of you.” 

“You don’t need to.” 

“Fine, then I’ll tell you. I’m doing this alone.” 

“You need backup.” 

“I’ve been on solo missions before,” she said frostily. “I can handle myself.” 

“Name one.”

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “If I could survive the Citadel, Onderon, Order Sixty-Six, Oba Diah, Zygerria, being hunting on Coruscant, that kriffing slaver moon—” 

“And every time, you had help,” Rex interrupted. “You’ve never _been_ on a real solo mission.” 

Ahsoka immediately wanted to object, but realized with upsetting clarity that Rex was right. While the Trandoshans had hunted her, she had had Chewbacca and the other Padawans. Even on Coruscant, she had found Ventress. “Alright, maybe I haven’t, but I could if I needed to. In fact, I will.” 

He smiled humorlessly, clearly settling in for a siege. “Explain the operational benefits, then.” 

“A Jedi and a clone? We’d be pretty conspicuous.” 

“I would be useful for infiltration,” Rex fired back, “and no one would know you were a Jedi.” 

“Two doubles the risk of being caught.” 

“And your chance of being rescued.” 

“The other Jedi won’t trust clones.” 

“They’ll trust someone saving their lives.” 

“If either of us were captured—” 

“We compartmentalize information. Neither of us would know enough to harm the other.” 

Ahsoka glanced at him. “You’ve been thinking this through.” 

“Echo thought you might be a flight risk,” he replied, almost smug. “We’ve been talking. I came up here to discuss it with you.” 

“I’m still saying no.” 

“Then tell me why, because I can’t think of a single good reason.” 

“Because you’ve gotten your closure!” she shouted. “You’ve been at peace since we arrived on Sorgan, but me? I’m getting worse by the day. I don’t sleep. I can’t focus. I don’t know where my peace is, but it’s somewhere out there, on my own. I can’t lean on you any more than I already have, because that’s attachment and it’s the road to the Dark Side. How am I supposed to rebuild the Jedi Order if I keep falling down the—” 

“You don’t get to push me away as some sort of selfish penance,” he retorted. “I chose you over all my brothers when Order Sixty-Six went out. I deserve better—we both do.” 

“You didn’t choose! I chose _for_ you!” 

“Yes, I did,” he snarled. “I could have had my chip removed and killed you anyway.” He glared at her, his eyes stormy with guilt and anger. “There is no universe where I would not have saved you, Ahsoka, but you should know I had the option.” 

She couldn’t even think of a retort in the face of his raw pain. For a moment, they stared at each other, waiting for the other to continue. 

Rex broke first. “We’re not just Jedi and clone to each other. We’re friends and there’s nothing wrong with needing each other to survive. In face of what’s in front of us...” 

She gritted her teeth. “I sense this path is one I need to walk alone.” 

“But you don’t,” Rex said. The anger had been stripped from his voice, leaving only soft appeal. “I’ll come with you.” 

Ahsoka only shook her head, a tear pattering onto her lap. 

“Well, we have time to think about it,” he said, stepping back onto the walkway. “Just ... don’t leave without a goodbye.” 

_Again._

“I won’t,” she said. 

“I’ll let you meditate.” 

There was no chance of that now, but Ahsoka still said, “Thanks.” 

As Rex walked away, he paused and turned back towards her. Half his face was silvered from the moon and stars, the other half gold in the camp’s artificial lights. His features were soft, vulnerable. “You know I’m here if you need me, kid.” 

“...I know.” 

The night was suddenly very cold. 


	14. Commanders

**Wolfpack FOB, Sorgan  
100 hours (4 standard days) after Order 66**

A single gunship ascended into the scarlet sunrise, the blast doors sliding shut across Commander Tano and Lylek Squad. Rex slowed to a stop, his visor filtering out the glare as he watched the gunship continue to rise. He had risen in the grey predawn hours in an effort to catch Commander Tano before she left, but he had arrived just a minute too late. 

A small orange figure leaned out of the gunship. Commander Tano was almost indistinguishable at this height, but Rex sensed she was looking at him. He instinctively shot her a salute. She returned it, and then she was gone, her gunship shooting off into the east. 

Rex heard the faint sucking sound of boots approaching over the muddy ground and turned to see Echo ambling over, his helmet clipped to his belt and a bag of fried krill in hand. 

“What did she say?” Echo asked. 

Rex sighed. “Well, you were right.” 

“Did you change her mind?” 

“It would be easier to stop the storms.” Rex pulled off his helmet and rubbed his scalp, his skin already tacky from the humidity. “Maybe I could try a pragmatic angle. If we emphasize her operational value—” 

“It sounds like she’s made up her mind,” Echo interrupted. 

Rex glared at him. “She’s not thinking straight. It’s going to get her killed.” 

“I’m not saying she’s right,” Echo said, “but she has to figure that out by herself.” 

“Not when the whole galaxy is hunting her like an animal,” Rex snapped. 

“The Empire is hunting us, too,” Echo reminded him. “She wouldn’t be any safer if she stayed with us. In fact, I bet we’d get Ol’ Palpy’s personal attention if he found out we were sheltering Jedi.” 

“I offered to go with her,” Rex said quietly. “Just me. She turned that down, too.” 

“It’s tough, being a survivor,” Echo said. “I can’t criticize the way she wants to deal with it.” 

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Rex said, more exasperated than angry. “Aren’t you worried?” 

Echo barked out a laugh and offered Rex the bag of krill. Rex refused. He never thought he would tire of food that wasn’t ration cubes, but krill were coming close. “’Course I’m worried; she’s Five-Oh-First. But she left after the Temple bombing, right? And then she came back.” 

“But—” 

“She’s smart, skilled, and she could put her head through a duracrete wall if she wanted to. She’ll be fine.” 

To Rex, solitude was inefficient and dangerous; there was a reason many units had been decorated for valor, but few individuals had received the same honors. Commanders stuck by their Jedi; their very survival depended on it. 

Echo flicked his head. “Ground control to the _RS Rex_.” 

Rex straightened up. “Sorry. Got sidetracked.” 

“I said, are you going to tell Wolffe about Ahsoka?” 

“It ... didn’t seem like Commander Tano wanted everyone to know.” 

“Wolffe had plans,” Echo pointed out. 

“His _plan_ is a suicidal rush on Coruscant with two companies and no Jedi,” Rex said. 

“You can’t blame him,” Echo said. “I don’t think Ahsoka did a good job of selling him on our potential allies—very few of which, if I remember correctly, have ever fought before.” 

“Yeah.” Rex sighed. “I wish Cody was here. He could’ve convinced Wolffe to listen.” 

“Cody would want to find General Kenobi,” Echo pointed out. 

“No, Cody _would_ find General Kenobi.” 

“Yeah, the commander’s about as mad as a rabid bandigo for his general.” Echo snorted. “Waxer told me about the time Cody thought General Kenobi had been slotted by a bounty hunter...” 

Rex shivered at the memory. His brother was nothing if not calm and methodical, even for a clone—and even when he was consumed with blind rage. “I remember.” 

“Fox said crime was down for _weeks_ afterward.” 

“When were you on Coruscant?” 

Echo shrugged. “I wasn’t. I commed Fox a few weeks ago to ask him about Fives.” 

“Fox’s after-action report was very straightforward,” Rex said coldly. 

“Give him a break,” Echo said. “He didn’t remember how he had gotten to the warehouse. He said Thorn and Stone had similar gaps in their memory from other missions.” 

Rex frowned. “It couldn’t have been the chip. The Coruscant Guard was always in contact with Jedi and none of them ever killed one.” 

“We don’t know everything the chip could make us do,” Echo said grimly. He clapped a hand on Rex’s pauldron. “Come on. There’s still plenty to do.” 

Rex cast one last look in the direction of Commander Tano’s gunship and headed back to the main camp. 

Risso and the 104th medics had managed to cut the operation time from twenty minutes to twelve. As a result, more than half of Wolfpack had returned to the main base, but it still felt empty. Other than the hundred or so still waiting for their surgery, most squads were in the field on humanitarian assignments. Three squads remained on base, seeing to routine tasks—chiefly, the monstrous task of disabling the transponders on every single piece of gear they wanted to take with them. 

The Wolfpack had moved their labors outside to take advantage of the hazy sunlight. The squads sat around the mess hall tables, vibroknives and hydrospanners in hand as they pried the chips off armor, blasters, supply crates, and ration packs. Rex and Echo took up positions at the end of the assembly line, double-checking everything before they handed it to Helo Squad for repackaging. 

Everyone _seemed_ busy, but the chatter was muted and the clones would look up from their chores a little too often for Rex’s liking. He reassured them as best he could, hiding his encouragement behind a thick layer of bluster. The Wolfpack took it in stride, but their wide eyes would always return skyward, waiting for an evacuation they hoped would never come. 

Black clouds boiled on the horizon, hiding the sun and forcing them back inside in anticipation of the coming storm. By early evening, though, the Wolfpack had finished processing and packing the essentials. Warthog borrowed a squad to deliver it to the _Silver Angel_. He had plenty to choose from; rescue teams trickled back to the base as the day wore on. Commander Tano had not returned, but—as Rex was angrily reminded after bothering Wolffe one too many times—she wasn’t scheduled to until after dark. 

Dinner was a strained, desultory, krill-heavy affair. Rex had expected another evening arguing over star maps, but instead, as the light began to fade, Risso summoned the upper command to the medical bay. 

Risso’s tiny office was located in the diagnostic center, which was cordoned off from the rest of the ward by a line of noise-suppressing curtains. Inside, banks of machines that could identify toxins, parasites, and diseases from all corners of the galaxy clicked, hummed, and whirred. The noise reminded Rex too much of droids for him to feel entirely comfortable. 

Wolffe, Sinker, and Tremor had already arrived, and Risso was slumped in his chair. Rex did not miss the CMO’s bloodshot eyes or the bedroll neatly stowed under his desk. 

“How has the chip research been going?” Echo asked. 

“There’s good news and bad news,” Risso said. He held up a glass plate with a thumbnail-sized piece of tissue suspended in the center. “Good news is that I figured out why the chip works. The chip was in our amygdala, which is the part of our brain that creates learned emotional responses, but it also sends a signal to our anterior cingulate gyrus, responsible for social learning and forming...” He trailed off as Wolffe rolled his eyes. “I can’t dumb down this explanation any further, sir.” 

“Somehow, I don’t think we ended up with the same intelligence,” Echo said.

“I’m following,” Tremor remarked. “I don’t know what you regs are complaining about.” 

Echo playfully punched his shoulder. Rex had seen them together often over the last few days. They probably had plenty to talk about, since they were both ARCs and were missing five limbs between the two of them. 

“Just cut to the chase,” Wolffe growled. 

“The chip’s location has two purposes,” Risso said. “The first is plausible deniability. The chip is located in the same area responsible for creating social bonds, so the Kaminoans could tell the Jedi it was to make us play nicer than our template. Obviously, we now know that’s not true, because none of us have become stone-cold loners since having our chips removed. However, when activated, the chip does act on the same areas of the brain, creating a powerful sense of betrayal.” 

“Did you find a way to override it?” Rex asked. 

Risso glanced at Wolffe, then Echo. “Not yet, but if we exposed a chipped clone to the transmission—” 

“No,” Wolffe said. His refusal had the distinct air of a repeated argument. 

“Commander Tano removed my chip after it had been activated,” Rex said. 

“We don’t know the impact of the Jedi Variable,” Wolffe said. “You might have gotten lucky.” 

“I say go for it,” Tremor said, crossing his arms. “You’ll have volunteers.” 

“I already lost half of the Hundred-Fourth,” Wolffe snapped. “I’m not losing any more—not even to their own stupid decisions.” 

“Well,” Risso hedged. “I was going to ask Commander Tano to use the Force to look at the chips. I still don’t understand _how_ Sidious’ voice is the only thing that can activate them. It could be a Sith ability.” 

A vein popped in Wolffe’s forehead. 

“I don’t know much about the Force, but I thought Jedi and Sith had similar abilities,” Echo said, “and I’ve never seen Jedi use the Force through technology without being physically present.” 

“Only Jedi can open holocrons,” Rex suggested. “Maybe that means the holocrons themselves have an innate connection to the Force.” 

“Sounds like another question for Ahsoka,” Sinker said. 

“The reason I thought the chips might be Sith is actually because of Rex,” Risso said, swiveling his chair to look at him. “He’s been mind-tricked before—Ventress got him on Teth, years ago.” 

“She didn’t _get_ me. I was able to fight the...” Rex trailed off as he followed Risso’s logic. “I was able to fight the chip because I already had experience fighting mind tricks?” 

Risso spread his hands. “I’m just guessing.” 

The implication hit Rex like a juggernaut. “Wait. Jesse ... Maul looked into his mind, too. Was—did—?” Jesse hadn’t been in the command center when the order went out; he had arrived a minute later. Had he been fighting too, his last moments of lucidity silent and alone? Rex clenched his jaw until he felt something crack. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated Sidious. Clones were conditioned not to take war personally, but a Sith lord turning Rex’s brothers into slaves was as personal as it got. 

“The effects might not be permanent if you have a strong connection to your target,” Risso continued. “It would explain why the Forty-First grunts who had never served under General Yoda accepted Order Sixty-Six without question, while Bly ... reacted the way he did.” 

“Then we should see mass defection,” Rex said. “Most Jedi _were_ close to their commands. The Three-Thirty-Second—” 

“Imagine the best case scenario, according to Risso,” Tremor interrupted. “You’re a trooper serving under a nice Jedi—alright, you’re _you_ , except this time, you get the drop on Ahsoka. You come back around. Her blood is on your hands. Who would understand having your mind violated like that, other than your brothers? The shame and trauma will glue them together. And—” Tremor’s aloof monotone gave way to anger “—murdering your general is about the worst thing you can do, right? It’ll make everything else Sidious makes them do that much easier.” 

“Alright, that’s enough depressing conjecture for the day,” Sinker said, waving his hands as if he could physically dispel the darkening mood in the medbay. “What else do we _know_?” 

Risso rubbed his face. “From what Ahsoka told me, it sounds like even if we do regain self-control, we revert back to Order Sixty-Six if we see or hear anything related to Jedi. As far as she can tell—and it’s still early—Order Sixty-Six is with us forever.” 

The machines hummed across the dismal silence. 

“Well,” Tremor said slowly, “sounds like the next step is to ask for volunteers.” 

Wolffe, who had been unusually silent until now, said, “I don’t need to hear it from you, too. Sidious already puppets every other kriffing clone in the galaxy. I won’t let him willingly take over my men.” 

“From here on out, every clone we’ll encounter will have operational chips,” Tremor argued. “Risso’s right. We should—” 

“We’ll have plenty of test subjects after we leave Sorgan,” Wolffe said. “Our only concern right now is getting off-planet with as many men as possible, preferably before the Empire returns.” He slammed his helmet onto his head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have real responsibilities.” He left with Sinker. 

“What crawled up his _shebs_?” Tremor muttered. 

“He knows he can’t save all of us,” Rex said, who understood exactly how Wolffe felt, “but he has to try.” 

“Ease up on him,” Echo told Tremor. 

“Look, it’s not that I don’t care,” Tremor said. “We ARCs talk a lot of smack, but we love our brothers as much as any clone. It’s just that if we’re all going to die anyway, why not let one or two of them put themselves at risk for something useful?” 

“We don’t know if it’s going to help,” Risso pointed out. 

“But we also don’t know until we try.” Tremor shrugged. “Seems like simple risk assessment to me.” 

“I would want to expose an affected trooper to a Jedi,” Risso said, “to measure their response.” 

“That’s a bad idea,” Rex said immediately. 

“If Ahsoka can murder the entire Three-Thirty-Second, I’m sure she can take an unarmed Wolfpack reg,” Tremor said. 

Rex bristled. “She didn’t _murder_ them.” 

“Pretty convenient for every single one to wind up dead. You’re lucky she’s sweet on you, _ner vod_ , or you’d be two meters under.” 

“Keep talking about Commander Tano like that and I’ll put you there, too,” Rex retorted. “ _Vod_.” 

Tremor merely raised an eyebrow. 

“Whoa, easy,” Echo said, stepping between the two of them. “Let’s relax.” 

“I’m not insulting her,” Tremor said. “She made the right call. She even lied to Rex about keeping it nonlethal so he wouldn’t feel guilty.” 

Rex didn’t care that Tremor probably knew fifty ways to kill with just his pinky finger. He didn’t care that the Alpha ARC was a few centimeters taller and a few kilos heavier from an extra jolt of growth supplements. Rex was going to lay him out all the same. 

Echo and Risso seized Rex by the shoulders, dragging him back from Tremor. 

“No, let him go,” Tremor said, dropping into a ready stance. “If he wants to fight, I’ll happily oblige.” 

“ _I_ told her to use deadly force,” Rex snarled. “I told her to kill my own brothers and she didn’t _listen_ to me.” 

“So releasing _Maul_ was an act of nonviolence?” 

Rex shoved Risso aside, but Echo put him in a chokehold and wrestled him to the floor. They went down in a clatter of plastoid, Echo’s legs pinning Rex’s arms to his sides. Rex glared up at Tremor, his fury warring with his unwillingness to hurt Echo. 

“Listen, Tremor,” Echo said. “Ahsoka would never kill her command, especially after she knew the chips were at fault. Yeah, it might have worked out in her favor, but she never would have done it on purpose.” 

Tremor shrugged and straightened up, but his eyes never left Rex’s. “Copy that.” 

“Now apologize to Rex.” 

“No need,” Rex panted. “Everyone knows Alpha ARCs are crazy. Tremor just forgot himself for a moment.” 

Echo’s hold loosened and Rex got to his feet. He held out his hand to the ARC. Tremor’s eyes narrowed, but he shook Rex’s hand all the same. 

“I’m going to talk to Wolffe,” Rex announced. “I’ll see you at the briefing after Commander Tano returns—and not a millisecond sooner.” 

“Sir, yes _sir_ ,” Tremor replied. 

Rex ignored the mocking edge to his voice and left the medbay, trying to focus on his breathing instead of Tremor’s words. Rex knew— _knew_ , not out of blind faith or dogmatic loyalty, but _knew_ in the same way he knew himself—that Commander Tano had not purposely killed the 332nd. He couldn’t permit other clones to think that about her. She could barely stand to be around clones already; if she sensed Tremor’s resentment or misplaced admiration or whatever it was, she might leave for good. 

“Sorry about that,” Echo said, jogging after him. “I should’ve let you hit him.” 

“He would have dislocated my arms before I had the chance,” Rex said. “You didn’t need to come with me.” 

“I didn’t want you to think I was choosing him over you. We Five-Oh-First need to stick together.” Echo tapped his chest for emphasis. 

“We _all_ need to stick together,” Rex said. “I don’t think Tremor—” _or Commander Tano_ “—realizes that.” 

Echo shrugged. “Well, according to the Kaminoans, it’s in his DNA.” 

“His DNA doesn’t make him a kriffing smug, self-righteous...” Rex trailed off and took a deep breath. “He’s still our brother. When the fighting starts, we’ll be glad to have him around.” He glanced at Echo, smiling. “Funny, I used to say that about you and Fives.” 

“We used the say the same thing about you, sir.” 

“Hey!” Rex exclaimed. “I’m the commanding officer.” 

“You were also no fun until you had at least four drinks,” Echo said drily, “and you used to be a real stickler for the rules. I’ll never forget when you made me run suicides for an hour because my bedsheet had a wrinkle in it.” 

“That was _not_ why,” Rex said. “As I recall, you also gave Fives a fake alibi while he swapped my bleach with purple hair dye.” 

Echo smiled wistfully. “Ah, I’d forgotten about that part...” 

“I also remember we’d just gotten off a tough campaign,” Rex said. “I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but you always timed pranks for when the battalion needed them.” 

“Is that an apology?” 

“Not on your life, corporal.” 

They were still chuckling as they entered the command module. Wolffe was alone, hunched over the holotable and aimlessly scrolling through star systems. His helmet on the floor, lying on its side as if he had dropped it. 

“Takodana, eh?” Rex asked. 

Wolffe grunted noncommittally. 

“I thought it was too close to the Core.” 

Silence. 

“You missed Rex almost pasting Tremor, sir,” Echo said. 

Rex glared at Echo, but Echo jerked his chin towards Wolffe. 

“Tremor probably deserved it,” Wolffe said at last. “ARCs all have smart mouths—even the cross-trained ones.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Ah, you’re not as a bad as Fives,” Wolffe said. “He was always biting off more than he could chew. Didn’t he disobey orders to blow up a Seppie command ship?” 

“I think that was the moment I missed the most,” Echo admitted. “Other than ... being there for him, at the end.” 

“Well, now we all know he was right and he’ll be even more insufferable when we all rejoin the Force,” Wolffe said. “Or whatever the Jedi believe.” 

Many clones ascribed to Jedi beliefs in the afterlife, if only because it offered the possibility of reunion. 

_Keep on waiting, boys_ , Rex thought, _I’m not done yet._

“What did you think of Risso’s plan?” Wolffe asked. 

“I agree with you,” Rex said. “We can’t lose any men to what-ifs.” 

Wolffe slammed his fist into the holotable. “We won’t need to deal with any of this if we just empty a clip into Palpatine’s rotten skull.” 

“He’s a Sith lord,” Rex said, “more powerful than the one who cut out your eye.” 

“We’ll have Ahsoka,” Wolffe said. “Right?” 

Rex hesitated. 

“Did you tell her about our plan?” 

“She thinks it’s ... uh, risky,” Rex said, not wanting to speak for her. 

“Then what’s her plan?” 

“She wants to rescue Jedi.” That was the truth, technically speaking. 

“The more Jedi the better,” Wolffe said, “but Palpatine will be dead in a standard year. I swear to you, I’m not dying until Sidious’ guts are on the kriffing _floor_ and I’m the one who put them there.” 

Rex thought back to Commander Tano’s words the night before. As much as he had denied them, they were still true. All their potential allies had been caught as flat-footed by Order 66 as the Jedi; any move against Palpatine at this stage would be as much a solo mission for him and the Wolfpack as it was for her. “I think a year is ... optimistic.” 

“If we can’t topple him in a year, we never will,” Wolffe said brusquely. “Every minute we’re sitting here is a minute he’s becoming more powerful.” 

“This is a siege, not an assault,” Echo said. “We need to be patient.” 

Wolffe turned to Rex. “What about you? You were backing me yesterday.” 

“I will fight the Empire until my last breath,” Rex said, “but I won’t make it a suicide mission. I’m with Echo. A year is—” 

Fear suddenly skittered down his spine, choking off the rest of his sentence. Rex immediately waved Wolffe and Echo into silence. All three of them put on their helmets and drew their weapons in perfect sync. Nothing was out of place; Rex had eaten the same thing as everyone else this morning, hadn’t left the base since yesterday, and his kit was on—and his bucket would have told him if his suit had been punctured. He flicked through his HUD, looking for something—anything—that would prove him right as his heart hit his ribs like a trip-hammer. 

“What’s wrong?” Echo asked quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Rex said. 

“The alarm would sound if anyone was approaching the base,” Wolffe said. 

“There _is_ something wrong. I can feel it.” 

“Now you sound like the commander,” Echo said.

A horrible realization dawned on him. Rex tried Commander Tano’s comm. Nothing. Then her gunship and Quinn, her sergeant. Nothing. “I’ve lost contact with Lylek Squad.” 

Outside, the klaxons began to howl. Warthog’s voice crackled to life in Rex’s helmet a heartbeat later. “Larty sensors are detecting a single cruiser dropping out of hyperspace.” 

Rex’s stomach dropped. 

“Make?” Wolffe demanded. 

“Looks like a _Venator_ ,” Warthog said. 

“This is it,” Echo muttered, his voice tight. 

Wolffe slammed his hand onto his comlink. “Wolffe to all units. Evac Plan Beta. Repeat, Evac Plan Beta. Wolffe to Captain Martez. What’s your position?” 

“The landing zone,” Captain Martez replied a moment later. “Why?” 

“Take a speederbike to the _Angel_. We’re about to have company.” 

“Not without my sister!” 

Wolffe sighed sharply through his nose. “We’ll find her. Get to the _Angel_ —that’s an order!” 

“I’ll put together a retrieval team,” Rex said. He sprinted for the door, fear souring in his gut. 

“The Empire’s hailing us,” Wolffe said. 

“We should see what they want,” Echo said. 

Rex grabbed the doorframe and spun back around. “We _know_ what they want.” 

“You lost contact with Ahsoka before the Empire even arrived,” Echo said. “Why would she be jammed, but not us? There’s something else happening here.” 

Rex hesitated. Whatever connected him to Commander Tano was telling him she was still alive. He decided to risk it. “Answer it, then—but pretend we’ve gotten Order Sixty-Six and ask if there’s a Jedi on the planet.” 

Wolffe adjusted his stance to block Rex and Echo from the holoprojector’s detection field as a miniaturized clone commander shimmered to life in his palm. The commander seemed to be standing in the communications hub; clones in comms and nav uniforms flashed in and out of sight behind him. 

“This is IC-Eight-Three-Zero-Six at the helm of the Imperial ship _Subjugation_ ,” the commander said. “Who am I speaking to?” 

Rex wasn’t familiar with this commander, but Wolffe grunted in recognition. 

“Commander Phalanx,” Wolffe said. “Normally, I’d say it’s good to see you, but it’s been a rough few days.” 

“Yes,” Phalanx said mechanically. “It has been.” 

Only a clone could have picked up the imperceptible flash of fear on the commander’s features. Echo’s hand rested on his blaster. Rex fixated on the commander’s hands, which were just visible at the bottom of the holo. His forefinger was tapping nervously against the holotable. 

“Our gunships will arrive at your base in five minutes,” Phalanx continued. “Prepare for evacuation.” 

No, Phalanx didn’t have a nervous tic. He was signing the same message over and over again. _Run. Run. Run. Run—_ Rex nudged Wolffe. The Wolfpack commander’s helmet jerked down in brief acknowledgement. 

“We’re already under Order Sixty-Six,” Wolffe said. “Before we leave, are there any Jedi on the planet?” 

At the word _Jedi_ , Phalanx’s hand stilled and his posture straightened. “Be advised we already have a squad—“ 

A disembodied hand shoved Phalanx away from the holo. A nat-born officer followed it onto the screen a moment later, his cap shadowing a severe, humorless face. “Enough chatter. Listen up, clone. CC-Three-Six-Three-Six, you have been re-designated _Imperial_ Commander IC-Three-Six-Three-Six.” 

“Are there any Jedi on the planet?” Wolffe snarled, all civility gone. 

“It’s _sir_ ,” the officer said, “and you are not cleared to receive that information. Standby for emergency orders to be distributed to all units, effective immediately.” 

The Imperial bridge flickered into nothingness. 

“Bastard,” Echo snapped. 

“It’s Order Sixty-Six,” Rex said. “He’s going to send the order. Play along, then get Phalanx—” 

“Why should I?” Wolffe asked, his voice eerily calm. 

“Because the Empire will glass the base if they know we’re all de-chipped,” Rex retorted. “We need a ground assault. Phalanx knows—” 

A hooded human shimmered to life from the projector. Rex reached for it, but Echo knocked him away before he could be seen. 

“Commander Wolffe,” the Emperor said. “Execute Order Sixty—” 

“ _No._ ” Wolffe drew himself up to his full height, holding the hologram level with his chest so he looked down on Palpatine’s tiny figure. “Fuck you, Sheev.” 

And then Wolffe hung up on the Emperor himself. 

For a moment, Rex could only stare at Wolffe, unsure if he should be impressed, terrified, livid, or all three at once. 

“The Eight-Thirty-Fourth’s gunships are still heading towards our base,” Wolffe announced. Rex could tell he was grinning under his helmet. “Looks like we’re still getting our ground assault. I’m relaying Commander Tano’s last known coordinates to your HUD. Take a gunship and a squad.” He switched channels and began issuing general orders to the rest of the 104th. 

Still at a complete loss for words, Rex turned and sprint to the landing zone, Echo following close behind. 

“Not sure if Wolffe has a pair bigger than Tatooine’s binary stars or if he’s the galaxy’s biggest _di’kut_ ,” Echo panted. 

“That makes two of us,” Rex snapped. 

“ _Shab_ , that must’ve felt good, though.” 

“Captain Rex, Sergeant Screwball and Tabor Squad reporting to duty,” announced a voice to Rex’s left. Nine clones fell in step beside himself and Echo. Rex noted six were shinies, but there was no time to be picky. 

The alarm klaxons reached a new pitch and Rex looked up in time to see the first Z-95 Headhunters breaching the black clouds, cannons already blazing. The Wolfpack’s LAAT/is raced to meet them. The Headhunters easily outmaneuvered the clumsier gunships and swooped towards the gunships still idling on the landing zone. 

“Tabor Squad!” Rex shouted. “With me!” 

The shinies rallied behind Rex and Echo, flattening themselves behind the durasteel barracks module in a synchronous collision of plastoid as the Z-95 strafed the landing zone. Violet-tinged fireballs burst skyward as the gunships exploded. The laboring chug of inbound gunships thrummed beneath the high-pitched whine of starfighter engines; the 834th was landing troops of their own. 

If Commander Tano’s last known coordinates were correct, she was over twenty klicks away. And if Phalanx was correct, there was already a squad at her position. 

At the Wolfpack base, Rex knew there would be no reinforcements, no last-second rescues. 

For now, they were both on their own. 


	15. Descent

**Wolfpack FOB  
4 days after Order 66**

Ahsoka’s squad was due to deploy at dawn, but she was awake long before that. Perhaps she had not even slept during those fitful evening hours as she lay frozen in her bunk, frantically monitoring the base’s comings and goings in the Force. But the Imperials had not come that night, either. 

Finally, she sensed the plants orienting towards the growing light on the horizon and kicked off her blanket, unwilling to even pretend to sleep any longer. Outside, scarlet cloud unfurled over the bruised sky, heralding another stormy day. The dewy grass beaded on her boots and the moist air was vibrant with birdsong. Morai kicked a local avian off its perch, watching with impassive silver eyes as Ahsoka sat cross-legged atop the barracks roof and tried to use the morning’s tranquility to wash away her conflicted thoughts. 

As everything fell apart, Ahsoka craved certainty. She had tasted it briefly when she had decided to find the surviving Jedi, but her confidence had waned as Rex’s had waxed. The Force had been unhelpfully silent on who had been more correct. Ahsoka _thought_ she knew she had to leave, but without the Force weighing in, she could just be misinterpreting her own feelings. Perhaps she was so desperate for cosmic approval that she had merely imagined her convictions stemmed from the Force. 

In the end, Rex had seemed to accept she would be leaving, but Ahsoka would not use the will of the Force as an excuse. They both deserved better than that. 

She stayed on the roof until Sorgan’s single sun peered blearily over the horizon. Then, she skipped the mess hall and went directly to the staging ground, where Lylek Squad, their pilots, and the gunship were already waiting for her. Their target today was a village about half an hour away and they wanted to make an early start. 

As the gunship ascended, something tugged at her conscience and looked back in time to see Rex walking towards the landing zone. He had probably been hoping to speak with her. His arm lifted in a salute and Ahsoka instinctively returned it. Then, the LAAT/i put on a burst of speed, carrying her into the red clouds. 

The village was typical for Sorgan: a collection of reed and wood houses set on low stilts, surrounded for a klick in every direction by winding krill paddies. Lylek’s pilot, Corvis, began evacuating the young and elderly in the gunship, but the rest of the villagers stayed to help. The Sorganese were a cheerful, hardworking people, already accustomed to labor from a lifetime spent farming krill. Lylek Squad heartily threw themselves into an impromptu sandbag-stacking competition—which they won, with Ahsoka’s help—and over a short lunch break, the two groups taught each other their work songs to pass the time. 

As the sun crept towards the horizon, the work was almost finished and the wind was picking up. Corvis evacuated the remaining villagers to higher ground as Lylek Squad wrapped up. Ahsoka estimated they would finish within thirty standard minutes, but that was thirty minutes she would be alone with Lylek Squad. Nonetheless, she bravely returned their banter. 

The gunship returned, perching beside the waterline about thirty meters away on the village’s only sizeable patch of ground. Corvis’ co-pilot, Stunner, popped the hatch and propped his feet on the lip of the cockpit, keeping watch with his binocs. The sun dipped behind a bank of puffy orange clouds and the insects buzzed in the reeds in anticipation of the coming nightfall. 

_Just ten more minutes_ , Ahsoka thought, eyeing the fifteen-meter breach in the sandbag wall surrounding the village. _Ten more minutes._

She hefted a sandbag onto her shoulder and passed it to Bash. Bash neatly stacked it atop the others and swiveled back, expecting another, but Ahsoka had frozen in place. 

“Problem, Commander?” asked Fox—not the jaded, hard-mouthed veteran commanding the Coruscant Guard, but a near-shiny transfer from the 87th Sentinel.

“I ... don’t know.” The sheer biotic noise of the billions of krill swimming through the surrounding pools was hampering her senses, but she knew she was being watched. 

“We’re being jammed,” Quinn said suddenly, holding his dead comlink out to her. 

Ahsoka tried to raise Rex on her own comlink. Only static returned. Cold adrenaline trickled between her shoulder blades. “Everyone, get to the gunship!” 

Following her lead, Lylek Squad seized their rifles and sprinted for the LAAT/i its engines coughed to life. Stunner sealed the cockpit and his binocs moved in even sweeps over the open paddies. 

Suddenly, three clones surged out of the pond on the other side of the LAAT/i, filthy water streaming from their angular red and black armor. Wrecker charged into the gunship and yanked Stunner and Corvis from their cockpits, throwing them to the ground, his blaster trained one-handed on their heads. Hunter and Tech ran through the open cargo bay, their blasters pointed at Lylek Squad. Ahsoka was already moving, drawing her _beskad_ and on her connection to the Force. 

“Whoa,” Hunter said, pulling off his helmet. The gunship’s engines whined as they powered down behind him. “We want to talk.” 

Ahsoka stuttered to a stop five meters away from him, her finely-tuned soldier’s instinct warring against her Jedi belief in sparing the lives of her men and hearing out Hunter’s request. She frantically scanned him in the Force. On the surface, Hunter was focused and calm. Something more volatile seethed beneath. 

“You should be dead,” she snapped. 

“We would be, if a _Nebula_ -class freighter hadn’t dropped off a hundred liters of prime bacta just an hour before,” Hunter said. His voice was level—almost conversational—but the veins on his face and neck bulged from unseen strain. 

_Pity,_ Ahsoka thought and she nearly spat it out with the usual defiant scorn she reserved for her enemies, but it was not the Bad Batch’s fault they were on opposing sides. “What do you want?” 

“I need to read your charges before your execution.” 

Ahsoka read the tension on Hunter’s face, his voice, and his sloppy ambush. Those were not the actions of a decorated commando unit. Perhaps Order 66 allowed some independent thought; aboard the _Venator_ , Rex had briefly deterred the 332nd from killing them outright by holding Ahsoka at gunpoint. 

“Commander?” Quinn asked. 

Ahsoka holstered her blaster, but kept her _beskad_ out. “I’d like to hear them.” 

“You must be ex-Padawan Ahsoka Tano,” Tech said. He was trembling hard enough to rattle his armor. 

“And you must be Tech.” Ahsoka attempted a smile. 

“IF-Two,” Tech corrected. 

“But you have names.” 

“Stormtroopers are now referred to exclusively by their number. To do otherwise carries the threat of a demerit on the first and second offense, and demotion on the third.” 

That small fact sickened her; she remembered how hard Jedi and clones had fought to allow the clones to use their names in official settings. 

Tech flipped the visor on his helmet down to examine her closer. “We will need to update our report when we return to base. We must have a perfect mission record, after all.” 

Ahsoka read between the lines; the Bad Batch had not identified her on Kashyyyk. 

“Ahsoka Tano,” Hunter said, “your first charge is high treason against the Chancellor and the Republic. Your second is collusion with the Jedi Order to accomplish these goals. Do you deny them?” 

For a millisecond, it was not a clone named Hunter reading the charges, but the skeletal, birth-born Captain Tarkin. Her lips twisted in an unbidden snarl. “I am innocent. All Jedi are innocent—and all clones, too. Echo must have told you about—” 

“Your third crime,” Hunter interrupted, “is the theft of two units from the Imperial Army: CT-Seven-Five-Six-Seven and IF-Five, formerly known as CT-One-Four-Zero-Nine. Are the units recoverable?” 

_Are they alive?_

The Bad Batch had to know—or at least suspect—this would be their last assignment. Ahsoka could not let them leave the planet with their chips intact. She decided to give them this one thing. “They are.” 

Wrecker seized the LAAT/i’s cargo door, crumpling the thick durasteel like flimsi. Ahsoka swallowed, tightening the grip on her _beskad_. The Force was warning her afresh with every heartbeat. If this was a battle of wills, she was in danger of losing. 

“It’s taking a while to read your charges,” Hunter remarked, seeming to guess her thoughts. “Crosshair wouldn’t have the patience for it.” 

“The Empire must have an excellent intelligence network if it located me this quickly,” she said. _How did you find me?_

“IF-Four’s fully operational wrist comlink was spaced into the planet’s atmosphere a few days ago,” Tech replied. “It was a simple matter of amplifying and tracking its weak signal.” 

Ahsoka vividly remembered Wrecker’s hand and the armor encasing it. She should have known. They should have disabled it before spacing it. She had _been_ there. She had seen it. That had been one chance to save everyone’s lives and she let it slip through her fingers. 

“And the Empire thought four clones could take _me_ in?” she demanded, taking shelter behind bravado. _Are you alone?_

Hunter’s amicable tone evaporated. “I told Imperial Command that Ninety-Nine was overkill for a single Jedi, but they insisted on sending regs to pick up the other clones on the—” 

His voice broke off as his eyes screwed shut, twisting his skull tattoo. He clapped his hand to his face, his emotions a tangled swirl. 

“Get ready,” Ahsoka muttered to Quinn. She hadn’t felt Hunter’s control slip entirely, but it was likely soon. 

When Hunter straightened up again, his face was a mask. “You aren’t our primary objective. We’re here for our brother.” 

The Bad Batch hadn’t stopped to answer Ahsoka’s questions; they had wanted to know about Echo. Killing her was merely an unavoidable inconvenience on their way to their true target. And Hunter wasn’t speaking from arrogance. He truly believed they could kill her. 

Everyone struck at once. Hunter charged, his vibroknife out; Quinn opened up with his rotary; Tech pulled something from his belt; Corvis and Stunner jumped Wrecker; a sniper round cracked through the air, missing Ahsoka by a millimeter and searing through Inky’s breastplate; Ahsoka leapt at Hunter. In the heartbeats between takeoff and contact, she seized the invisible threads of the Force binding her to Rex and pulled them taut. For just a moment, she felt Rex’s scalp prickle as she brushed against his mind. 

_We’re under attack!_ she shouted, uncertain what—or even if—he could hear. _Evacuate the base!_

Echoes of his emotions thrummed across the distance between them; his muted mix of concern and focus sharpened into alarm. 

Hunter’s vibroknife skittered down Ahsoka’s blade, catching on the cross-guard. She twisted down and out, ripping the knife from his hand as she stepped in for the kill. Hunter drew his sidearm with his free hand and fired point-blank at her face. Ahsoka ducked; the bolt sizzled between her montrals. Hunter fired at her four more times, but she stayed close, keeping his body between her and Crosshair’s position. 

Tech lobbed a small device towards Lylek Squad. Ahsoka deflected it with the Force, fearing it was a bomb, but it activated in midair, revealing a life-sized hologram of Emperor Palpatine. _“Execute Order Sixty-Six.”_

Hunter capitalized on Ahsoka’s distraction to shoot at her. She sidestepped; the bolt grazed her shoulder instead of sinking into her chest, then flipped backward, catching Hunter’s chin with her boot. Bash shot the hologram; the Emperor disappeared in a puff of smoke. 

“They’re not reacting to the order!” Tech shouted. 

Hunter rounded on her, his eyes wide. “What did you do?” 

“Removed the control chip,” Ahsoka panted. “We could help you!” 

Hunter shook his head, wiping the blood from his mouth. “It’s too late.” 

In the LAAT/i, Wrecker pulled Corvis and Stunner off him. Ahsoka danced outside of Hunter’s reach and used the Force to rip Corvis away from Wrecker, but Wrecker’s hold on Stunner was too firm. Wrecker snapped Stunner’s neck and threw him into Jinx. Bash advanced, shooting at Wrecker, but came too close. The massive clone grabbed Bash and smashed him headfirst into the ground hard enough to shatter his helmet. 

Hunter stepped back from the ferocity of Ahsoka’s attack, leaving his thigh unguarded for just a millisecond. She thrust her _beskad_ forward; the point slid into his leg, but Hunter caught her wrist and pulled it up before she could do any real damage. Ahsoka shoved him with the Force, blasting him through two houses. 

“Run!” Quinn shouted to her. “We’ll cover you!” 

“We’re all getting out of here,” she snapped. There was nowhere to go, anyway; the gunship was their only way out. Crosshair would pick them off if they tried to flee across the paddies and the houses were too flimsy to provide substantial cover. 

“Dets!” Quinn shouted, just as four of them arced high in the air from Tech’s position and exploded into thousands of tiny metal spheres. Ahsoka used the Force to scatter the spheres away from her and the clones beside her. Quinn and Ty were too far away; the projectiles shredded their armor and the flesh beneath. They didn’t even have time to scream. 

“We need that gunship,” Ahsoka snarled. “Lylek, with me!” 

She didn’t wait for their reply as she inhaled, bringing the living Force into her body and letting it flood every fiber of her being. Then, she targeted the angry, confused, betrayed presences of the Bad Batch and gave them a hard shove. Tech flew back into the paddy. Wrecker hunched over, his remaining hand digging furrows into the loam. Ahsoka followed up her push with a Force-assisted punch, targeting the dirt under his fingers and blowing him into the water. 

She sprinted into the LAAT/i with the remnants of Lylek Squad. Test pitched forward, a blue round punching through his backplate. The other clones took refuge behind the mangled blast doors as Ahsoka ran to the cockpit, leaping up into the pilot’s seat. 

Ahsoka had never flown a LAAT/i, but the control schematics resembled to her old Delta-7. She closed the blast doors and fired the engines, pulling up on the control shaft. The repulsors screamed and Ahsoka was compressed into her seat as the gunship rocketed skyward. A tiny screen just under her left hand showed her the interior of the troop cabin; Lylek Squad was holding onto the overhead straps for dear life. 

Rain pelted against the vidport as the LAAT/i climbed higher and higher into the atmosphere, punching through the clouds. Ahsoka twisted the control shaft, switching their motion from vertical to lateral. She forced her mind into a state of calm, even as she maintained a crushing grip on the steering. Her job now was to go straight to the _Silver Angel_ —even to take off, if no one else was able to join her. No—if no one else was coming, she would go back and _get_ them. 

The cockpit comm buzzed. “Need a copilot, Commander?” 

“Please,” Ahsoka said. 

She kept the gunship level as Corvis scrambled into the copilot’s bubble. Several indicators changed color as Corvis assumed control of auxiliary functions, but he left the steering to her. 

“Any wounded?” Ahsoka asked through the cabin comms. 

“Not seriously, Commander,” one of Lylek replied—Chance, she thought. “Don’t worry about us.” 

Six of the men Ahsoka had trusted so little—through no fault of their own—had died for her. There were almost three hundred 104th clones on Sorgan. How many others would share Lylek’s fate? 

“Have you tried contacting the base?” Corvis asked. 

“Give me a moment.” Her transmission was still blocked. They were several klicks above the planet’s surface and a hundred klicks from Tech; his jammer should not have worked so far away. 

A _Plo’s Bros_ LAAT/i swooped up from the beneath them and flew parallel with Ahsoka, the wingtips of their gunships almost kissing. 

“Good to see you, Ahsoka,” Warthog said, his voice crackling through the comms. “You had the commanders in a tizzy.” 

“Can you contact the base?” 

“Negative. Short range comms only. I won’t be able to talk to you if I fly away.” He paused. “Standing orders are to escort you to the evac.” 

“Is everyone already evacuating?” Ahsoka asked. 

“Should be, sir.” 

“Alright,” she said. “Setting a course for the evac.” 

Her LAAT/i punched through another layer of clouds and straight into a battle. LAAT/is, ARC-170s, and Z-95 Headhunters threaded through the steely thunderheads, trading rockets and cannon fire. Warthog’s LAAT/i zoomed into the dogfight, leaving Ahsoka’s gunship behind to strafe an ARC-170 tailing one of his pilots. A gunship detonated in front of them, sending scraps of molten metal pinging off the vidport. Far above them, a _Venator_ -class star destroyer was descending into the atmosphere, its turrets blasting any Wolfpack LAAT/is daring—or unfortunate—enough to fly into range. 

“Commander, the evac,” Corvis urged. 

No one had detected them yet. It would be easy to reverse course and vanish into the clouds, then wait beside the _Silver Angel_ for the survivors to limp back until they could delay no longer. But what would happen after that? The _Angel_ would not escape Sorgan undetected with this many ships in the air. It might not even escape at all. They could be vaporized in atmosphere by a single volley from that _Venator_ or swarmed by starfighters or damaged and captured and hauled before the Emperor, still alive and wishing they weren’t. 

Ahsoka had watched people die since she had been fourteen years old. She had held men—men under her command, men who were her friends, men whose lives she could have saved—bleed out in her arms. In the ringing, gnawing, murderous silence afterward, she had looked herself in the mirror on days she thought she couldn’t and swore she would meet her own death on her own terms. Waiting at the _Silver Angel_ was not it. Nor was running away from a battle she had promised to fight. She and Rex could not save the 332nd, but they could save the Wolfpack. 

There were two hundred ninety lives down there, kindling the last hope the clones had for freedom. She would not turn her back on them. 

That was not what a Jedi did. 

“No,” she told Corvis. “We’ll fight.” 

His excited whoop rang her cockpit as she accelerated to attack speed, interposing her LAAT/i between a Wolfpack gunship and its pursuing Headhunter. The Headhunter jerked sideways to avoid the collision, buying the gunship time to rejoin the fray. Then, the nimble Z-95 flipped back around to pursue Ahsoka. Her display pulsed red as the Headhunter locked on. Lines of hot plasma seared through the darkening sky. Ahsoka threw the gunship into a nosedive, streaking towards the ground, and then whipped it so the Z-95 was flying straight at her. Corvis fired a missile and the Headhunter exploded. 

“Redirecting power from shields to engines,” Ahsoka announced. 

“Is that—?” 

“Safe? As long as I’m flying.” She flipped the switch. “Be advised, friendlies mixed with Imps.” 

“Yes, s—Commander, look!” 

Three ungainly shapes peeled out of the _Venator’s_ main hangar. The upper half of each cumbersome conglomeration was formed by three gunships lashed together, their combined power supporting a single turbo tank, suspended beneath each trio by a nest of cables. Juggernauts were not intended for aerial deployment; whoever had developed this strategy was as inventive as they were bold. 

“We won’t get off Sorgan if those juggernauts land,” Ahsoka said. 

“So we’re going to blow them up, right?” Corvis asked. 

“You know it.” 

“Copy _that_ , Commander.” 

Before engaging, Ahsoka checked the crew compartment. Lylek Squad had moved the gunship bow and strapped themselves into the crash seats below the pilot ladders. They were as ready as she was. 

She slashed straight through the thickest part of the dogfight, weaving the bulky transport blaster bolts and looping around the other fighters dancing around her. Two ARC-170s peeled away from their squadron, circling behind Ahsoka’s LAAT/i before she could out-maneuver them. She twisted between their twin lines of fire, racking up some minor hits on the LAAT/i’s armored aft. Corvis nailed one of the ARC-170s with the rear gun. The other ARC-170 picked up three 104th LAAT/is; a Wolfpack gunship found its mark and downed it. 

Ahsoka angled her gunship back towards the juggernaut, making 650 kph—off the dial—in her descent, stooping towards the rearmost raft of gunships like a shriek-hawk targeting a flock of nuna. LAAT/is were not meant to be flown like snub-fighters, but Ahsoka would make Anakin proud. 

“Whoa, Commander, easy on the throttle!” Corvis exclaimed. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “We just need to trust in the Force.” 

Even she didn’t know what that meant anymore. 

A band of Headhunters flew at her, forcing Ahsoka to throw the LAAT/i into a corkscrew. Corvis spat out a particularly vile Dorian curse as he maintained a steady rate of fire from the wing and aft cannons. He hit a Z-95 and it crashed into another, fastening them together as they plummeted. Ahsoka locked onto the juggernaut and used the Force to determine the exact moment of release. The missiles streaked towards their target, striking the juggernaut in the fore and aft cockpits. The shrapnel was flung outward, shredding the attached gunships, but Ahsoka was safely out of range. 

“Full squadron, heading this way,” Corvis warned as their proximity sensors began to blare. “We certainly got their attention.” 

Ahsoka twisted into what passed for a gunship’s evasive maneuvers. LAAT/is were built for durability, not agility, and it showed in the paint skinned off the gunship’s aft. She turned into the oncoming squadron and tagged one. Corvis accounted for another with a rocket. The remaining Headhunters—seven, all told—curved around to resume pursuit. 

“There are too many of them,” Corvis snapped as they acquired another batch of carbon scoring. “We’ll never get close to the juggernauts.” 

Ahsoka noticed a billowing thundercloud twisting over the modified juggernaut carriers like a black spire and got a crazy idea—a Skywalker idea. The engines whined as she accelerated. “You’ll be piloting solo for a bit.” 

“Are you coming back?” Corvis demanded. 

She unbuckled her restraints and crouched on her seat. “Just keep the cockpit open. Transferring primary controls on my mark.” 

The thunderhead engulfed the gunship on all sides, killing the visibility. Rain streamed across the vidport and lightning flashed in the darkness as gusts buffeted them on all sides. 

“I’ll count you down,” Ahsoka said. The last rays of sunlight were dying on the far side of the cloud. She would separate when Corvis had a good line of sight. “Three, two, one, switch!” 

They punctured the thunderhead and the sunset returned, orange and brilliant and painful. Ahsoka popped the seal on the cockpit. The wind ripped her out of her seat and she flew back at just the right speed to land _beskad_ -first onto one of the pursuing Z-95s, shattering the vidport and impaling the pilot. She wrenched the blade free and jumped onto another Headhunter in the formation, digging her blade into its wing to slow her fall. Her arms ached as she screeched to a stop. The pilot did a double-take when he saw her, then drew his sidearm and shot at her, punching holes in the transparisteel. Ahsoka aimed through the hole with her DL-44, killing the pilot with a single shot to the head. 

He had tally marks painted on his reddish armor, just like Rex. 

Ahsoka corrected the falling Headhunter’s downward trajectory with the Force, towards the LAAT/is transporting the second juggernaut. The gunships had since vanished into the clouds blanketing the blanket’s surface; Ahsoka slipped in a minute later atop her gliding Headhunter. Darkness fell like a hammer. Rain stung her face, as sharp as a blade, and her eyelashes frosted with ice. The red landing lights of the rearmost LAAT/i pulsed sullenly out of the murk. She gave the falling Z-95 a solid push at the last minute. Its wedge-shaped bow pierced the LAAT/i’s magazine. The shockwave from the blast kicked Ahsoka through the air, scorching her chest and legs and nearly ripping her _beskad_ from her grasp. Beneath her, the remaining two gunships were not strong enough to support the juggernaut by themselves; they dropped like stones, unable or unwilling to release the cables binding them to the turbo tank. 

Ahsoka searched for the final gunship raft, but her sight failed her as she fell through the clouds and into the deluge pounding the lower atmosphere. A gunship swooped beneath her, its copilot anxiously looking up to mark her position. She splayed her limbs to slow her fall and used the Force to pull herself back into pilot’s seat, shutting the cockpit behind her. 

“Holy shit, ma’am,” Corvis said, somehow making it sound respectful. 

“We’re not safe yet,” she said grimly. “Prep missiles one and two. We’re going after the last juggernaut.” 

“Prepping tubes one and two. Ready to fire on your signal.” 

“Don’t wait for me.” 

“Headhunters coming around!” 

The five remaining escort Z-95s had not broken formation; they followed her through the clouds and converged on her gunship. Ahsoka could not evade all five at once, but, above, she sensed a wing of Wolfpack LAAT/is pursuing the last remaining juggernaut. She drove straight beneath them. The Wolfpack pilots knew an opportunity when they saw it; their cannons hit the Headhunters broadside, destroying all five. 

Warthog tucked himself into her slipstream, his squadron following suit. Everyone activated their flood lights, their light slashing through the rain. Ahsoka trusted instead in the Force, listening for the warped _chakka-chakka-chakka_ of gunship engines under strain. 

The floodlights swept over the juggernaut swaying beneath the cables just as Ahsoka felt it in the Force. The gunships were about ten klicks ahead. Rafted together and carrying a thousand-ton tank, there was no way they could evade. 

“Do we have a missile lock?” Ahsoka asked. 

“Negative,” Corvis replied. “The storm is interfering with the targeting system.” 

Ahsoka sensed twin flashes of panic as the rearmost Wolfpack LAAT/i dropped off her sensors. Moments later, she lost another gunship, then a third, leaving just her, Warthog, and two others—but there were no Headhunters or ARC-170s in range, and the _Venator_ was still in the stratosphere. 

Another gunship flew past her, its cabin aflame, and Ahsoka felt a sudden _focus_ directed at her. She pulled up just in time; two plasma bolts seared the LAAT/i’s belly. As the gunship twisted, the shadowy outline of a three-winged transport was imposed against the rain. 

There were four presences on that ship. 

“It’s the Bad Batch,” Ahsoka snarled, driving her gunship directly at them. The Wolfpack wouldn’t be able to outfly a cloaked transport in these conditions. She had to trust Warthog to down the juggernaut while she distracted the commandos. 

She fired the forward cannons, but the agile transport dodged, vanishing in the rain. 

“Corvis, fire a missile at mark eight-nine-one,” Ahsoka ordered. 

The missile zig-zagged through the downpour, its trail briefly illuminating the transport, but missing the engine casing by bare meters. The transport zipped forward, distorting the clouds around it, and opened up with two cannons that were far too powerful for a shuttle that size. Ahsoka barely kept the gunship outside the shuttle’s line of fire. 

“EMP!” Corvis shouted, milliseconds before a blue rocket detonated just over the gunship. Ahsoka cut the gunship’s power, tumbling into freefall as the electromagnetic pulse passed over them. She forced herself to count to three, then restarted the gunship. Her control panel went from dark to screaming. Corvis split the power between the repulsors and shields, halting them a bare two meters over the treetops; the gunship vibrated hard enough to rattle her teeth. The Bad Batch’s first volley went wide, ripping off the port side blast door as Ahsoka accelerated the gunship at full throttle. The gunship rocketed skyward, into a near-vertical climb as the engines shrieked under the strain. They had to return to the clouds for cover. 

The _Venator_ dropped out of the storm, its turrets immediately targeting her lone gunship. Thick bolts of green energy sizzled through the rain. Ahsoka juked left, but the LAAT/i lurched wildly, a blast shuddering through its frame. The control panel howled and flashed as the engines began to lose power. 

“We’ve been hit,” Corvis reported, his voice eerily calm. 

Terrified, Ahsoka glanced at the tiny vidscreen feed for the cabin. The four remaining members of Lylek Squad were still strapped into their seats, their hands gripping their restraints. They must have known their chances of survival. Did they blame her? Hate her? As the gunship plummeted, she felt only calm resignation. 

They knew. 

Clones always did. 

Ahsoka grunted with effort as she pulled up on the throttle, struggling to transform their dive into a glide. The gunship struck the water belly first, skipping across the surface before catching on a berm and flipping nose over aft, the wings shearing off with a deafening screech as it plowed across a field. Finally, the gunship juddered to a halt, falling on its side with a groan. Ahsoka deflated the airbags and unclipped her restraints, landing on her hands and knees on the vidport. 

“Corvis!” she croaked, pressing down on the comms. “Corvis, are you okay?” 

Less than a meter away, Corvis’s life flickered and went out. 

Ahsoka stepped into the cabin. Lylek Squad was still in their seats, their bodies limp and their arms slack at their sides. It was like the first time, all over again. She had been reckless. She had gotten her command killed. She had _failed_ all of them. 

She hauled herself out of the gunship, coughing from the acrid smoke billowing from the wrecked engines. Her LAAT/i had fetched up against a hill; she staggered to the top to get her bearings. The rain and falling night obliterated any familiar landmarks, but there was a green blaze of light maybe five klicks to her right, just below the familiar wedge-shaped landing lights profile of a _Venator_. The Empire was glassing the Wolfpack base. Ahsoka could only hope it had already been abandoned. 

A flock of smaller red lights streaked by her and Ahsoka watched as the final juggernaut hit the ground about a klick away. Warthog’s LAAT/i harassed it with cannon fire—destroying one of the carrier gunships—but the juggernaut fired four missiles at him in quick succession, forcing him back up into the clouds. 

Ahsoka hurriedly dipped into the Force, seeking out Rex and Trace. They were both alive, close together, and heading away from her. Ahsoka double-checked her heading. The faint glimmer on her left must have been the nearby river, which meant she had crashed in the opposite direction of the evacuation site with no way to contact anyone. 

As she debated her options, she sensed four focused presences honing in on her crash site. Ahsoka immediately turned and fled into the forest. 

There was no time to think. It was time for their rematch. 


	16. Immolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter TW** : suicidal ideation

**Wolfpack FOB  
4 days after Order 66**

Any gunship still in the landing zone exploded into columns of fire and smoke as the 834th’s Headhunters thundered past. As the debris fell, so too did the rain, in a wall of water that slammed down like an orbital barrage. Rex watched in despair as the flames licking the wrecked gunships guttered out in the rain. It would take an hour to reach Commander Tano’s last known position on foot—time they no longer had. 

“What are our orders, sir?” Screwball asked Rex. “Are we still going after Commander Tano?” 

Rex tried her comlink again. Only static returned. 

“Nothing?” Echo asked. 

He had used a private channel. There was no point in riling the already-jittery shinies. 

“Jammed,” Rex confirmed tersely. 

“We’ll just have to trust in the Force,” Echo said. “Isn’t that what she would say?” 

Echo had a point; if Rex knew Commander Tano was alive, he would probably know if she died, too. The realization was bizarrely comforting. “...Yeah. Thanks, Echo.” He switched back to his exterior speakers. “Listen up, Tabor Squad—Commander Tano’s location is unknown. We need to focus on saving who we can, starting with anyone still on base.” 

“Sir, yes _sir_!” Tabor barked. 

“With me!” 

Rex rolled off the barracks wall and sprinted for the command module, Echo on his right flank and Screwball on his left. In the five minutes since Commander Phalanx had made contact, most of the Wolfpack had already evacuated via speederbike or gunship. They had drilled for this exact scenario, over and over again in the days since Rex had arrived. No plan ever survived contact with the enemy, though, and the destruction of the last gunships guaranteed there would be stragglers. Wolffe was definitely among them and Rex would be damned before he lost another of his command batch. 

Imperial LAAT/is—stamped with the disfigured, six-armed cog of the new regime—punched through the Wolfpack’s defense, hovering over the camp long enough to drop platoons of stormtroopers. Rex’s gut reaction on seeing the maroon-armored troops was _brothers, friends, reinforcements_. Then, they started shooting. 

Echo dropped to one knee, picking off the stormtroopers rappelling down from the gunships. Rex shot two 834th, then twisted around to cover Screwball as he lobbed a thermal detonator at a knot of approaching stormtroopers. The clones were reduced to chunks of meat and plastoid. The resulting chaos gave Rex’s squad the cover they needed to keep moving. 

Wind whipped through the base, wrapping them in dense sheets of rain. White shapes loomed out of the downpour, some hostile, some friendly, some Rex couldn’t even check. Instinct alone directed his steps, but it was a sure guide; an eternity later, he spotted the telltale nest of antennae and satellites projecting from the squat command module. Blue blaster bolts shot out of the front and rear entrances, disappearing into the rain. 

Rex led the charge from their cover, splashing the scant ten meters across the mud and dodging bolts—friendly or Imperial, Rex had no idea—to bust in through the rear, right into a squad of 834th keeping Wolffe, Tremor, Hati, Two-One, and Rafa Martez pinned behind the holotable. Rex and Echo killed half the 834th squad before they realized they had been ambushed, then took cover behind the busted comms array as Tabor Squad piled in behind him, hitting the 834th with a salvo of blue fire. 

With the rearguard dead, everyone focused on the stormtroopers still coming through the front entrance. The 834th soon fell to the man, filling the close space with the reek of charred flesh and plastoid. 

“Not that I’m ungrateful, but I thought you were rescuing Ahsoka,” Wolffe said. 

“Phalanx took out the last gunships,” Rex said, “and we don’t know where she is.” 

“What about Trace?” Rafa demanded. “Where’s my sister?” 

“Long range comms are jammed, but Sergeant Timber had her, the last I heard,” Wolffe said. He turned to Rex. “I got ahold of Boost before our communications went down. He’s sending the medpod and hunkering down.” 

“How many chipped clones are left?” Rex asked. 

“Fifty-seven.” 

“Forget about them,” Tremor said tersely. “Without gunships, we have a long, dangerous walk ahead of us.” 

A scraping sound put everyone back on alert. An 834th sergeant was dragging himself towards Wolffe with his remaining hand, smearing the durasteel with blood. His visor was cracked, the visible sliver of his face—Rex’s face, Wolffe’s face, every clone’s face—twisted with hatred. 

“Good soldiers .... follow orders,” he gasped, struggling to aim his blaster up at Wolffe. “Good soldiers...” 

Tremor strode forward and kicked the gun out of the clone’s hands, then leveled his DC-17m at his eye. “Sorry, brother.” 

Tremor’s blaster discharged. 

Wolffe slowly shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. He glanced back at the dead clones littering his command module. “Let’s move out.” 

Wolffe, Tremor, Rafa, Hati, Two-One, and Tabor Squad moved as one out the back, Echo and Rex covering them. By some miracle, Rex had managed to keep all nine of Tabor Squad alive and with him. A little voice wondered for how long. 

Outside, visibility was nearly zero. Clones and stormtroopers approached, recognized each other—or didn’t—and fired—or didn’t. Rex relied on Wolffe to navigate as he focused on protecting their small band, his nerves honed to a sharp, trembling point. His own voice screamed out of the storm, as Rex had heard on so many battlefields before, except this time there were no battle droids marching in counterpoint. It was only clones dying, clones killing, clone blood leaching into Sorgan’s mud. 

The wall materialized out of the rain and they sprinted along its perimeter for twenty meters until they found a point where the durasteel had been warped outward by an explosion. Wolffe halted at the breach and waved the survivors ahead of him. Rex, bringing up the rear, gestured for Wolffe to keep going. 

“I’m not leaving with just fourteen men,” Wolffe snapped. 

“There will be others,” Rex said. He shoved Wolffe’s backplate. “Move it, trooper.” 

Wolffe rounded on him. “They won’t make it!” 

“It’s a risk we all took!” Rex retorted. 

Wolffe stabbed a pistol at Rex. “It was _easy_ for you, wasn’t it? You just had to shoot every clone in sight to save your own sk—” 

“That’s enough,” Echo said, reappearing at the wall. He was an ARC; he didn’t need to shout. “Rex is right. We’re leaving.” 

Wolffe snarled a curse before jogging to the head of their tiny column. Rex and Echo once again brought up the rear, slipping down the muddy hill to enter the forest’s meager protection. 

Night had descended at the same time as the storm; Rex switched to infrared, the dark, dripping woods transformed from black to grainy grey in a blink. Rafa’s unarmored body flared an angry white as she ran alongside them. 

The rain suddenly ceased and the ground rumbled as the 834th’s _Venator_ cruised overhead, as silent and menacing as a rifaxin shark. Thick beams of light shot from its turrets; a deep boom rolled out from behind them, overpowering the wind and rain. 

“The Imperials are firing on the base,” Wolffe reported dully. 

“I don’t think any Hundred-Fourth were still on base,” Rex said. 

“Yeah,” Tremor said, “but what about the Eight-Thirty-Fourth?” 

“They wouldn’t fire on their own men,” Screwball said. “Right?” 

For a long moment, the only sound was the distant barrage and the wind lashing through the trees. Then _Venator_ passed and rain returned to drown their horror. 

The trees filed down the storm’s teeth; the wind was not strong enough to hinder them and the ground—insulated by a layer of vegetation—was still solid beneath their boots. But this patch of woodland did not extend all the way to the _Silver Angel_ and before long, the trees shrunk into prickly, waist-high shrubs. The mud returned, sucking at their boots as they skirted the forest perimeter, darting between clumps of saplings like minnows. The rain also began to slacken, peeling away all illusion of cover. 

At the edge of his hearing, Rex noticed faint and ever-increasing whine punctuating the drizzle. 

“ _Scatter!_ ” Rex screamed, shoving Echo sideways. Rafa remained rooted in place, mouth open, as the mortar streaked high over their heads, staining the rain white. Rex slung her over his shoulder and sprinted back to the forest, praying to every deity in the cosmos that he would not trip. 

The mortar blasted Rex off his feet in a searing flash of light. Rex instinctively braced Rafa’s head and neck as they fell. His back slammed into the ground; Rafa landed on his chest a millisecond later like an aftershock. 

“Are you alright?” Rex asked. 

She scrambled off him without replying, which Rex could only interpret as a good thing. He wobbled to his feet, wiped his mud-splattered visor, and turned around. A gigantic, ten-wheeled HAVw A6 Juggernaut ripped across the forest’s edge, its spotlights swiveling over the uneven terrain as its antipersonnel cannons fired indiscriminately into the night. 

“What is that kriffing thing?!” Rafa shrieked, backpedaling on her hands and feet. 

“A juggernaut,” Rex told her. 

Rafa stared at him. Dark stripes of blood dripped from both her ears; the explosion must have ruptured her eardrums. Rex grabbed her upper arm and steered her away from the juggernaut. 

“Rex to Wolffe,” Rex reported as he ran. “I have Rafa Martez. Location?” Static. “Rex to Echo. Two-One?” Static. “Tremor?” Kriffing _static_. 

Short-range comms had a range of ten meters. Rex must have run further than he had expected. That, or the mortar had killed them all. 

The ground in front of Rex was suddenly seared white, his own shadow stretching five meters in front of him. The juggernaut’s cannons scorched a line mere meters from his boots. He scooped up Rafa, plunging deeper into the forest, where the trees grew too densely for the tank to follow. A column of lightning illuminated the way, pursued by thunder that drowned out even the mortars. 

“Put me down!” Rafa shouted. “I can run. I’m good, I swear.” 

Rex stopped and let her go. Wide-eyed, soaking wet, and splattered with blood, she didn’t _look_ good, but Rex hoped the adrenaline would keep her on her feet. She had managed to keep ahold of her Deece, at least, and it looked like she wouldn’t be letting it go anytime soon. 

“Rex, don’t shoot,” Echo’s voice said in his ear. “I’m coming up behind you.” 

The ARC appeared out of the gloom, his black armor plastered with a generous coat of mud. He gestured helplessly with his Deece back towards the forest edge. “A _tank_? That’s not fair.” 

A mechanical roar cut over Rex’s pithy response. The juggernaut was plowing through the flat expanse of paddies to their left in pursuit of some unlucky bastards. Through the rain, Rex could only see their futile blue bolts, answered by powerful red blasts. 

“Commander Wolffe,” Echo was saying into his comlink. “Wolffe, come in.” 

“Jammed,” Rex said wearily. “We need to move.” 

They instinctively kept the civilian between them as they jogged through the forest. Echo took point and Rex took tail, which meant occasionally running backward to check for pursuers. The only sounds were the harsh gasps of Rafa’s breathing, the swish of plants, and the endless rain. Wet branches slapped Rex’s helmet as he passed, streaking rainwater across his visor. 

He tried to calculate as they ran. He had deviated from the ideal course to utilize the tree cover, adding another two klicks onto his route. The _Silver Angel_ was still ten klicks away and clones could run twenty-five klicks an hour in armor, meaning they would reach the ship in about twenty-five minutes. Commander Tano and Wolffe were still unaccounted for. Rex hoped for a happy reunion at the _Silver Angel_ , but the last week had badly dented his optimism. 

“Sir!” a clone shouted. “Wait! Stop!” 

Rex halted, drawing his pistols into a group of five grey-armored clones coming up behind him. The foremost was bareheaded; he pointed to the scar on his temple. 

“We’re friendlies,” the clone panted, wiping the rain from his eyes. “I’m Sergeant Lookout.” He waved to his men. “Gamma Squad. Half of it, anyway: Tam, Sticks, Gale, and Odax.” 

“Any wounded?” Rex said. 

“Tam was shot in the shoulder, but he’s fit to fight, sir.” 

Rex read between the lines. _Don’t leave Tam behind._ “Which one of you is Tam?” 

A clone with descending grey waves painted beneath his visor stepped forward. “Me, sir!” 

“Carry her if she falls behind,” Rex said, gesturing to Rafa. “Her eardrums are shot, so keep her in line of sight.” He saw a flash of maroon paint and pointed his pistols at the stormtrooper, his fingers already depressing the triggers. 

“Whoa, don’t shoot!” Lookout exclaimed, throwing himself in front of the unarmed 834th trooper. “This is Patter. He surrendered.” 

Patter removed his helmet. He was young, with the full cheeks of a shiny fresh out of the simulations. A puckered scar bisected his right eyebrow, arcing high over his scalp. 

“I was on the bridge when Commander Wolffe’s transmission came in, sir,” Patter said. “I don’t know what’s happening. Everyone was taking Order Sixty-Six seriously and no one listened to me when I tried to talk to them about it. Commander Phalanx almost threw me in the brig for treason. When Commander Wolffe refused to follow the Order, I thought...” The shiny stopped babbling and ran a trembling hand over his scar. 

“What was the nature of your head injury, trooper?” Echo asked sharply. 

“It—it was on Sullust, sir. I was fighting in the ground assault. Jive—my sarge—shot an SBD and it exploded. The shrapnel cut right through my helmet.” Patter swallowed. “I was dead for an hour. I had part of my brain removed. I’m not supposed to be on active duty, but Commander Phalanx said—said that I should go. He told me that Commander Wolffe would enjoy hearing my tall tales.” 

Rex thought back to Phalanx’s frantic, silent signaling on the bridge. Perhaps the commander had tried to help Patter, in his own way. 

Echo glanced at Rex. “I don’t think he could lie about being Sixty-Six’d.” 

“No weapons,” Rex ordered Patter, “and keep your bucket—” 

Patter immediately pitched his maroon helmet into the underbrush, shortly followed by the vambrace bearing his comlink. 

“We haven’t seen anyone else,” Lookout said, “but Commander Wolffe...” Lookout trailed off as a line of spotlights was swept through the rain behind them. 

“Friends of yours?” Echo asked Patter. 

Patter shivered. “Not anymore.” 

Lookout put his helmet back on and motioned the rest of Gamma Squad to fan out behind cover. Tam led Rafa to the middle of their formation, then motioned for her to stay down and remain quiet. The 834th had the advantage of numbers; Gamma Squad needed the advantage of surprise. 

Rex took out the sergeant in his first attack, aiming for the collarbone where he knew the plates were thinnest. The best and only thing he could do for them was to make their deaths quick—but they were clones, bred for victory. None of them died easy. 

Sticks fell, a hole charred into his breastplate, and Patter dropped into playing medic. Rex switched power packs on his pistols and dashed forward as blue bolts whizzed past to his helmet. He grabbed a clone’s arm, rammed his pistol into the man’s armpit, and pulled the trigger. Someone jumped him from behind, wrapping plastoid vambraces across Rex’s throat. Rex elbowed hard into the clone’s flexible plackert. The other clone’s grip loosened and Rex threw him off, shooting as the clone fell. The 834th clone had the same idea, but he missed and Rex didn’t. The stormtrooper was dead before he hit the ground. 

Another squad of 834th ran in from the side. Rex and Echo downed their point men, but the squad split, opening the line of fire for a clone with a reciprocating quadblaster strapped to his chest. The first volley threw Lookout into a tree, his chest ripped open. 

“Fall back!” Rex shouted, flinging himself behind a log. The Cip-Quad chewed it to cinders in a millisecond. He blindly lobbed a thermal detonator, using the blast as his smokescreen as he fled after the others. Echo turned and shot at someone behind Rex. A clone screamed. Rex saw a white flash out of the corner of his eye and leveled his pistols with the source as he screamed, “Echo, your six!” 

Echo whirled around and fired on a squad of pursuing 834th. 

“ _Incoming!_ ” Patter shouted. 

A flaming Z-95 was streaking down from the clouds like a meteor. Rex rolled behind a boulder, pulling Rafa and Tam in with him just before the starfighter struck the ground. Metal shards whizzed through the forest, shredding the vegetation. Odax went down, but he kept crawling, leaving his right leg and a river of blood behind him. Rex and Patter grabbed Odax by the arms, hauling him forward as Echo, Rafa, Gale, and Tam covered their escape. 

“Go,” Odax begged, his voice a thin whine. “Let me go!” 

“We’re almost there,” Rex said. “Keep moving, soldier!” 

“I’m going to ... I’m going to bleed out. I can’t...” 

“We were _made_ to keep going,” Rex snapped. “You can do it, Odax!” 

Odax’s grip on Rex’s pauldron was loosening. Rex turned as a mortar from the juggernaut struck the ground twenty meters behind him. The 834th clones had just enough time to scream before they were thrown into the trees. 

Suddenly, the fireball was not scarlet, but green, and the lush, rain-soaked vegetation of Sorgan shriveled into the red-tipped ferns bathing Umbara in sullen light. Suddenly, Rex was not killing 834th, but 212th, unloading ten years of merciless training and two years of battlefield experience onto his own brothers. He had not known, then. He had no excuse now. 

Rex shut those thoughts away and poured all his focus into his legs, letting them carry him and Odax away from the battlefield. When he no longer detected any 834th, he motioned for a halt and set Odax down. Rex eased off Odax’s helmet and stabbed him in the neck with painkillers and coagulants from Patter’s medkit. Then, he helped Patter glue a bacta patch onto the stump of Odax’s leg. Odax was unconscious but breathing when Rex stepped back, his gloves spongy with gore and bacta. It was a temporary fix, but Wolffe had provisioned the _Silver Angel_ with enough medical supplies to stock a field hospital; if Odax survived long enough to make it to the ship, he would be safe. 

“Good work, kid,” Rex told Patter. He absently put a hand on Patter’s spaulder, smearing it with blood, then pulled down his rangefinder to survey their surroundings. They were standing on the edge of a ravine; to their left, the ground dropped into a rocky creek. The land to their right sloped gently downward, concealing the ridge behind trees, thick brush, and a smattering of tank-sized boulders. Distant explosions pulsed irregularly on the horizon, but Rex did not see or hear any approaching clones. He double-checked the sightlines and said, “We can stop for a few minutes. Echo, check our ammo. Patter, keep an eye on Odax. Anyone injured?” 

A chorus of negatives echoed back. Tam answered for Rafa, who had a white-knuckled grip on the poor man’s injured arm. Patter assessed Tam’s shoulder and Rafa’s eardrums as Gale distributed stims and painkillers. The others switched power packs on their weapons, and redistributed ammo, detonators, and weapons. Rex had just two power packs for his DC-17s—a hundred bolts, plus the thirty or so charges he still had in each of them now. 

A distant, tiny part of him was screaming—had been screaming since the Wolfpack’s gunships had gone up—but Rex had to pretend it was someone else. It wasn’t him who was cracking under the revulsion of murdering his brothers or from watching his last safe haven destroyed. It wasn’t him running himself in circles trying to triangulate Commander Tano’s location. That was the other Rex. _This_ Rex had to keep moving. If he stopped, the Other Rex would catch up with him faster than the Empire. 

_Right ... about that..._

“Echo, do you have a det?” Rex muttered. 

The explosive-happy ARC passed him one. “Big plans?” 

Rex hefted the thermal detonator. “Well ... I don’t plan on being taken alive.” 

“Messy,” Echo said. He pulled a small, flat device from his belt—roughly the size and shape of a ration cube—and showed it to Rex. “Clean.” 

Rex snorted. “Got a spare?” 

Echo flicked his wrist and the tiny bomb vanished. “Make your own next time.” 

“You’ll have to show me.” 

“I will.” 

For a moment, they both savored the implicit promise. Then, Rex roused Gamma Squad’s survivors and checked his holomap to put them on the fastest heading to the _Silver Angel_. Rex asked Patter to carry Odax; he hoped carrying a hundred fifty kilos of armor and wounded brother would keep Patter occupied. The kid seemed genuine, but Rex privately told Echo to walk behind him, just to be safe. 

Luck was with them; they did not encounter another 834th patrol in the final five klicks to the clearing concealing the _Silver Angel_. Rex waved to the cordon guards, gave them the right passphrase, and continued on to the ship. Despite its size, the transport was almost invisible, camouflaged by the darkness and layers of netting and greenery. Captain Martez, Tremor, and Wolffe ran down the extended ramp. Captain Martez wrapped her sister in a hug. Wolffe grabbed Rex by the back of his helmet, and tapped it against his own—an unusually affectionate gesture, for him. “You took your time.” 

“You didn’t wait up,” Rex teased. 

“I’ve never seen anyone scatter that fast. You were _gone_.” 

Echo chuckled tiredly. “If General Skywalker tells you to run, you’d better move.” 

“Got wounded,” Patter grunted. Risso eased Odax off the shiny’s back and hurried him into the _Silver Angel_ with Gale’s help. 

“Whoa, who’s the whitejob?” Tremor said, turning towards Patter. The movement was casual, but Tremor’s DC-17m was now trained on the shiny’s heart. 

“This is Patter,” Echo said. “He had extensive brain surgery awhile back, so he didn’t get Order Sixty-Six.” 

“And you believed him?” Tremor demanded. 

Echo crossed his arms. “I’ve got a soft spot for strays.” 

“Hmph.” Tremor lowered his rifle. “I’ve still got my eye on you.” Patter flinched. Then, Tremor handed him his sidearm. “But I don’t think you wanted to go out unarmed.” 

“No, sir,” Patter said, saluting him. 

Tremor forced Patter’s hand down. “We’re past that, now.” 

“Who else made it?” Rex asked. 

Wolffe gestured back to the _Silver Angel’s_ cargo bay. “See for yourself.” 

The Wolfpack’s surgical pod was bolted down at one end of the cargo bay. The rest was jammed with clones. There were clones hanging onto the cockpit ladder, piled three deep atop each other in the corridors, peering out of the captain’s cabin, sitting atop stacks of supply crates, and packed cod-to-skid in the aft hallway. Rex recognized Screwball and most of Tabor Squad, Two-One, Risso, Wildfire, Comet, Vhek Squad, Howl Squad, Even Squad, Feral Squad ... he lost count around a hundred seventy. Three more squads had been pushed out of the overflowing cargo bay; they serried nervously around the _Angel’s_ struts, occasionally glancing upward at their luckier brothers. There were probably two more squads guarding the perimeter, too, bringing the total number of survivors upward of two hundred. 

Wolffe stepped beside him. “Another bunch of stragglers shows up every few minutes.” In an odd voice—half-bitter, half-optimistic, he added, “The Eight-Thirty-Fourth scattered us in the beginning, but our evacuation plan worked perfectly. Other than the pilots, the unit is topping eighty percent survival—ninety percent, if we assume Boost’s platoon survives, too.” He inclined his head. “You see our ... problem.” 

Rex looked his brothers and they looked back at him, their expressions grim. 

“What if we jettison supplies?” Rex asked. “Or the surgical pod?” 

“Some of the supplies can go,” Wolffe said, “but not much, especially with this many men.” 

“And we can’t leave the pod,” Echo said. “Risso said it would be almost irreplaceable.” 

Then the decision was simple: the mission or the men. The culmination of ten years of training told Rex one thing. Three years of miserable, hard-won field experience told him another. “Has ... has Commander Tano made contact?” 

“No,” Wolffe said, “but I got ahold of Warthog after we separated. He reported she had joined the dogfight over the base, as of half an hour ago. He saw her gunship crash, but couldn’t determine if she’d survived.” 

Captain Martez marched up in time to hear Wolffe’s report. Her face fell. “What? Is Ahsoka alive?” 

“Yes,” Rex said, knowing it was true without understanding why. 

“Then we need to find her!” Captain Martez exclaimed. “If it were any of us, Ahsoka would look. I _know_ she would. She—” 

“We’re not going to leave her behind,” Rex said. “I’m heading back out.” 

Clones were expendable. They all knew it. They all made peace with it. The idea of losing a Jedi, though, was unthinkable. He had heard of it happening—seen it happen, on Ringo Vinda and Lola Sayu—but the idea that it could happen to _his_ Jedi had never crossed his mind. All Jedi had abilities Rex could barely understand and Commander Tano was the best of the best. She would survive. To do otherwise would rip away the last seams holding Rex’s tattered universe together. 

“We should wait here,” Wolffe said. “Commander Tano’s a Jedi; if she doesn’t make it to the RV, it’s because she’s dead.” 

“We can’t _wait_ ,” Rex snapped. “Someone was jamming her signal before the _Venator_ even showed up. She’s being hunted. Phalanx told us as much.” 

“Uh, sir?” 

Everyone turned to Patter. He cleared his throat. “This may not be true—I only overheard it in passing—but we were ordered not to interfere with the commandos deploying alongside us.” 

“Did you catch their unit name?” Rex demanded. 

“No, just that there were four of them.” 

“Standard commando array,” Wolffe commented. “Could be any of them.” 

“They parked a black custom _Nu_ -transport in the hangar. It had custom nose art—a senator, I think, and it said—” 

Echo’s head snapped around “ _Good to be bad_.” 

Patter frowned. “Yeah, exactly.” 

“That’s the _Havoc Marauder_ ,” Echo said, dread marking his voice. “It’s the Bad Batch’s shuttle.” 

“How did they—?” Rex cut himself off in a panic. There was no time. There was never any _time_. He seized Echo’s shoulders. “Can you get a lock on it?” 

“If I jury-rig the _Angel’s_ scanners.” 

“Do it.” 

Echo took off, stepping over and on brothers in his haste to reach the cockpit, and Captain Martez pressed closer. “The Bad Batch? Are those the guys from Kashyyyk? Are they hunting Ahsoka?” 

“Yes,” Rex said, “but we’re going to get there first.” 

Force only knew where Commander Tano was now, but Hunter was an incredible tracker. Rex would bet his kama that the Bad Batch and Commander Tano would not be far apart. It was boiling down to a race between Hunter and Rex, and Hunter already had a head start. 

“Every time we delay or send out a squadron, we risk the Empire tracing us back here,” Wolffe snapped. “I say we wait. I won’t put my whole command at risk for her.” 

“I’m not asking you to risk anyone,” Rex said. “I’ll go.” 

Echo reappeared at his side. “Rigged a tracker. And, with respect, your plan is ridiculous. I’m coming, too.” 

There was no situation in which Rex would _regret_ having a fully trained ARC trooper with cybernetic enhancements for backup—except if Echo died. 

“Me, too,” said Captain Martez. 

“I’ll come,” said Venture, stepping forward with the remnants of Vhek Squad. 

“Us, too,” said Ryer, another lieutenant. 

Before long, the entire Wolfpack was on their feet; the ones who weren’t were the ones who couldn’t stand to begin with. Even some of them had gamely raised their hands. 

“Want me to stun them?” Tremor asked Wolffe. 

Wolffe scowled at Rex’s volunteers—eager but tired, and many of them with light injuries. “Uninjured volunteers only.” He pointed at Captain Martez. “Not you. We need our pilot.” 

After Wolffe had turned away to organize the 104th for their second deployment of the night, Rafa rushed forward, her Deece held in a vice grip. Tam lingered a few steps behind her. “I want to come.” 

“With respect, ma’am,” Echo said, “you’re about to crash. Adrenaline won’t keep you upright forever.” 

“I can still shoot.” 

“We’ll need more than bolts,” Echo said, “and Captain Martez will ground the _Angel_ if we lose you.” 

Rafa glanced at Tam. “Just ... make sure Ahsoka’s alright. She owes me a lot of money right now.” 

Rex knew Rafa enough by now to know that was as close to a _good luck_ as they were going to get. “We will.” 

She hesitated. “May the Force be with you.” Then she and Tam hurried back into the safety of the ship. 


	17. Tabaga and Vrelt

**Sorgan, 13 klicks from the RV point  
4 days after Order 66 **

The gusty whine of a landing shuttle sliced through the rain behind Ahsoka, but she was already running. She used the Force to quicken her steps, conceal her presence, and deaden her footfalls, rendering her as fleet and silent as a kybuck. After Ahsoka had put distance between herself and the Bad Batch, she dropped to the ground, rolling in the muck and smearing it onto her face and hands. Hunter might still smell her, but the dirt would break up her outline. She and Anakin had played this game together. It had saved her life on Maridun and against the Trandoshan slavers, and it was about to save her life again. 

She jumped into the trees, bounding from branch to branch. Her mind worked in overdrive, creating and discarding strategies almost before she acknowledged them. She forced herself to stop, flaring her nostrils to suck in silent, deep breaths until the frenetic panic that had gripped her after the gunship crash bled away. 

Ahsoka needed to reach the _Silver Angel_ , but she could not risk the Bad Batch following. There were two options in front of her, then: she could double back to their ship and steal or disable it, or she could kill all four of them, right here and now. 

She initially latched onto the former. Her near-defeat on Kashyyyk weighed on her mind and another ship would provide the Wolfpack with much-needed space. And although Hunter had not seemed to mind killing her to find Echo, he and the other Batchers were still beholden to Order 66; hunting them down felt wrong. At the same time, Ahsoka had did not want to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder. The terrain here was also to her advantage. A crowded understory with disrupted sight lines and fifty meters of vertical space was better suited to a small, Force-sensitive combatant than armored clones with blasters. 

Ahsoka gritted her teeth and made her choice. She had already lost Lylek Squad; her survival and the survival of her friends came before her desire for a rematch. 

She closed her eyes and used the Force to home in on the Bad Batch. Three of them were moving directly towards her. The fourth was further away; Ahsoka assumed Crosshair was in a distant sniper’s nest. She slipped from her roost, relying on the canopy to conceal her as she led the Bad Batch away from the _Silver Angel_. 

As she ran, she tried to calculate how much time had passed since she had crashed. She wanted to thoroughly misdirect the Bad Batch, but the _Angel_ might take off if she delayed too long. Ahsoka didn’t _think_ her friends would abandon her—at least, not knowingly—but pragmatism would eventually take precedence over emotion, and leaving without her would be the right call to make. 

Sorgan was rather pleasant: the people were friendly, the climate was temperate, and there was plenty of food, water, and shelter. Ahsoka knew she could survive here. Still, being forsaken, _now_ , activated some primitive, quaking terror—the fear of being quarry overlapping with the aftershocks of Order 66. She had planned to leave the Wolfpack to seek her own path, but that had been of her own volition. Abandonment did not sit so easily. 

Now anxious, Ahsoka began the broad loop back to the Bad Batch’s shuttle, keeping the Batch themselves half a klick behind her. They must have been sprinting; she, too, had to go all out just to maintain her buffer. There was still no sign of Crosshair, which was both— 

Ahsoka skidded to a halt as the beam of a helmet-mounted searchlight swept over her. She had been too focused on the Bad Batch to monitor her immediate surroundings. She froze, hoping the mud would disguise her, but she heard a clone shout and dove behind the nearest bushes, tearing through the forest as the squad pounded after her, their bolts shredding the vegetation. 

She seized a low branch and flipped around, using her momentum to slam feet-first into the lead clone. Her boots connected with his helmet, snapping his neck. Then, she unsheathed Lux’s _beskad_ and sliced through the rest of the squad. Blood and plastoid shards pattered to the ground in her wake. When she had dispatched the last clone, she used the Force to check if they were alive, unable to look at them herself. The last fluttering heartbeat obediently stilled. 

Ahsoka froze there, soaked in rain, mud, and blood. Lightsabers always made clean kills. This ... this was nothing short of butchery. But she didn’t have the time or capacity to dwell on it; three approaching heartbeats pulsed beneath the pounding rain. Ahsoka glanced around urgently, then climbed a tree, slowing her breath as she waited for them to come into view. 

Hunter led the pack, his helmet clipped to his belt and his bruised nose held high. Tech followed, his visor aglow with scrolling text and what looked like a map. Wrecker brought up the rear. In the light of Tech’s display, Ahsoka noticed Wrecker’s amputated left hand had been replaced with a skeletal metallic one. She knew from Anakin that it took weeks of therapy for cybernetic parts to achieve the same dexterity and range of motion as the limbs they had replaced. Ahsoka would take advantage of that, if it came to a fight. 

Her best strategy would be to keep pulling them apart with the Force or to come at them faster than they could react. Either tactic would require incredible stamina and strength, and after five near-sleepless nights and three days of manual labor, Ahsoka didn’t have that. But she suspected the Bad Batch had not faced many Force-wielders. Perhaps the odds were not as against her they appeared. 

She drew her _beskad_ and felt it catch on the sheath. Frowning, she wriggled it free and squinted at the blade. The _beskar_ was nicked down its entire length. Jagged triangles of warped metal twisted perpendicular to the blade like teeth. Lux’s impure _beskad_ wasn’t made to break starfighters; in retrospect, she was surprised it was still intact. 

Wrecker kicked over one of the dead 834th clones. “She killed them.” 

“The Jedi are traitors,” Tech explained. “They have never cared about us.” 

“Quiet,” Hunter ordered. “I think I can hear her breathing ... and I can smell her, too...” 

Ahsoka held her breath. 

“Can you sense a ship?” Tech asked. 

“No,” Hunter said. “It must be far.” He halted, facing away from Ahsoka. She risked a breath and his head snapped back around. “She’s close. This kriffing rain...” 

“Keep an eye on the trees,” Tech ordered. 

“Got it,” Wrecker said. 

The muzzle of Tech’s blaster passed over Ahsoka’s hiding place, but she was already gone, dropping silently to the forest floor. She curiously probed Hunter’s mind, but his thoughts were too shielded for her to influence them. 

“This way,” Hunter’s voice called from behind her. 

Ahsoka crawled through the sodden undergrowth on all fours, cushioning each hand and foot with the Force as the Bad Batch stalked ever nearer. She could not panic, could not let her heart beat loud enough to betray her. She let the Force guide her thoughts and actions, willing herself into a state of focused detachment until she could regain her half-klick buffer. 

_Hand-foot-hand-hand-foot-hand—_

“What about the other clones?” Tech asked, his voice almost three meters to Ahsoka’s left—considerably closer than she had thought. “They didn’t receive Order Sixty-Six.” 

“Lucky,” Wrecker grunted. 

The Bad Batch fell silent. Ahsoka’s sympathy grappled with her survival. Then, she remembered the holos of Master Plo’s body, smoking after a dozen post-mortem wounds. The Force surged through her, even stronger than before. Her heartbeat and breathing steadied. 

“They’re not our concern,” Hunter said. “Our job is to kill Ahsoka Tano and find IF-Five. We can figure out the rest later.” 

“I don’t think the Empire will let us live if we know the truth,” Tech said. 

“Cut the chatter.” A moment later, Hunter said, “I can hear you, Tano. Surrender. It’ll be over quickly. That’s more than you’d get from the Emperor.” 

_Small mercies,_ she thought. Thorns scraped her face as she twisted through a bush, barely disrupting the branches. 

“Enough searching!” Wrecker shouted. A spray of bolts sliced an arc through the trees nearly fifteen meters to her left. 

“Stop shooting!” Tech cautioned. “IF-One won’t be able to hear.” 

“Well, we know she’s not over there,” Hunter said. He took a few steps to her left. “Try shooting this way, Wrecker.” 

“IF-Four,” Tech corrected as Wrecker fired wildly into the forest. Ahsoka was already on the move, but deliberately, languidly, relying on the Force to warn her if the bolts came too close. Her back and ankle—injuries from Kashyyyk—were beginning to ache again. 

“Tech,” Hunter said, “toss a frag grenade at mark seven-two-two.” 

Not even the Force could evade _that_. Ahsoka burst from cover, drawing her DL-44 and firing at Tech. The bolts pinged off Tech’s activated shield and Hunter and Wrecker swiveled around, shooting into the underbrush. Ahsoka threw herself flat, one hand extended so she could slam Hunter to the ground and push Tech away from her by his ankles. The Batch immediately focused fire on the direction Tech was being dragged and Ahsoka approached from behind, stabbing her _beskad_ at the chink between Wrecker’s plackert and backplate. 

Wrecker turned faster than she thought possible, catching her _beskad_ in his droid hand. Sparks flew he closed his fist, grinding the pitted _beskar_ against the durasteel covering his prosthetic. Ahsoka yanked her _beskad_ free and ducked under his swing, slotting neatly into his blind spot, but Hunter was coming at her with his vibroknife. She bent backward and sprang over his head, deflecting two slashes at her chest and head before she tucked in a roll, extending her _beskad_ as she fell to cut at Tech’s knee. She had not swung fast enough to slice off his leg; the blade stuck fast in his greaves. Ahsoka came up in a crouch—evading Hunter’s line of fire and the butt of Wrecker’s rifle—and jerked the _beskad_ with both hands and the Force. The blade ripped free of Tech’s armor, wrenching him off his feet. 

Ahsoka pushed Tech into the forest with the Force and ran after him, weaving through the blaster bolts following her. She slammed shoulder-first into the small clone, knocking him into the ground. He quickly drew his pistol, but she kicked it away and brought her _beskad_ down on his head. Tech’s shield snapped to life and her blade slewed off with a loud buzz the vibrated up her arms. She stomped his forearm flat and stabbed down at his face. Tech twisted towards her, his vibroblade extending out of his gauntlet. Ahsoka skipped sideways, but the blade nicked her thigh, giving Tech time to roll to his feet. 

Sensing Hunter and Wrecker drawing nearer, Ahsoka frantically feinted at Tech’s shield, switching her _beskad_ into her opposite hand at the last second to stab him under the ribs. Tech jerked away—surprisingly nimble despite his armor—and the _beskad_ only scored a shallow line in his plackert. 

Ahsoka estimated she could not kill him in the half second before backup arrived, so she used the Force to rip the grenades off Tech’s belt and scatter them over a klick of woodland. Then, she turned and fled, drawing on the Force with every inhalation, snapping branches and shaking bushes from afar to mask her trail from Hunter’s ears. A bolt winged over her shoulder and the earth tremored under Wrecker’s footfalls. 

When she no longer heard Wrecker, she circled back towards the Bad Batch’s ship, listening intently. The storm that had blown in earlier was beginning to abate, but the constant rush and creak of the windblown vegetation was muddling her focus. Sensing no one in the immediate vicinity, she pressed her mouth close to her comlink and whispered, “Rex. Rex, come in. It’s Ahsoka.” 

The comlink sizzled with static. 

The sharp _crack_ of a plasma bolt pierced the dying rain, scorching a line across her hip. She rolled behind the nearest tree, her fingers scrabbled over the wound. It was shallow; the skin was blistered, but not seared. More worryingly, this was the second time tonight that someone had gotten the drop on her. Her fatigue was catching up to her. 

Above, the clouds were parting, allowing shafts of moonlight to impale the forest floor. A hundred meters beyond where she suspected he was hiding, a black shuttle rested on a grassy overlook. Part of her wanted to make a break for it, but Crosshair’s rifle could probably shoot fifty bolts a clip and the scraggly trees would offer no cover. Despite Crosshair’s exceptional marksmanship, though, he had the strength and reflexes of a regular clone. Alone, Ahsoka could take him. 

Ahsoka kept to the gloom as she approached Crosshair’s position. She slithered on her belly to get closer, the damp leaf litter sticking to her clothes. Finally, she sighted him. He was seated in the crook of a tree about three meters away and five meters up, his helmet flush against his scope as he aimed into the distance, the long barrel of the rifle tracking back and forth as he searched. 

She made a fist, crushing his rifle from afar, and pulled him towards her with the Force. Crosshair seized a branch, holding fast with one hand as he drew his sidearm with the other. Ahsoka stepped forward to redouble her efforts and felt a faint _click_ under her boot. 

She propelled herself backward as the ground beneath her feet exploded into a wall of fire and sound. The shockwave knocked her into a tree, ripping the breath from her lungs and the _beskad_ from her hand. She slid down the rough bark and landed on in a heap, her body scorched from neck to heel. Ahsoka staggered to her feet, coughing and leaning against the trees for support as her ears rang. 

Crosshair emerged from the smoke, his blaster pistol aimed between her eyes. This wasn’t the _Venator_. Crosshair wasn’t Rex. There was no conflict in his being, no indication of regret. She was just another job. 

“I knew you’d come in close for the kill,” Crosshair said. 

Ahsoka wiped away the blood dribbling from her nose. “Me, too.” 

She surged forward, crossing the space between them in a single Force-boosted bound and knocking him to the ground. Ahsoka ripped the vibroknife off Crosshair’s belt and drove it under his chin. Crosshair jerked and struggled, punching at her face, bludgeoning her neck and jaw as she desperately sawed the vibroknife across his throat. Blood gushed over her hands, splattered her face, soaked into her jumpsuit, squirted in high arcs from his neck, but he was still alive and she was begging him to die. 

Finally, his muscles seized and relaxed. Ahsoka staggered to her feet, Crosshair’s blood dripping from her face and hands, staining them black in the moonlight. Darkness obscured her vision, creeping in waves from her periphery. The other three Bad Batch clones burst from the trees, their attention fixing first on her, then on Crosshair dead at her feet. 

“ _Crosshair!_ ” Tech screamed. 

He was going to shoot her—they were all going to shoot her—but Ahsoka was sick of it. She was sick of killing, sick of being hunted, sick of being tired, sick of the blood coating every centimeter of her body and soul. She tightened her fingers and lifted all three of them off the ground. The clones struggled uselessly against her, their hands clutching at their closing throats as their straining hearts blended into a single frenzied rhythm. As she watched them dangling there, helpless against her power, she thought of the Jedi lying dead on the Temple steps and the tiny Padawan on Kashyyyk and Maul escaping and Master Plo and the Emperor and Rex shaking as he fought the Order and Padmé and Yoda and Master Windu splayed above the Senate doors like a trophy and her cruiser burning as it streaked through the atmosphere and Obi-Wan’s warning and everything she had wanted to tell Anakin and everyone she had killed to get here and everyone should would keep killing just to stay alive and— 

A bolt seared through her calf and a second burned her shoulder. Ahsoka dropped to one knee, her concentration broken and a current of exhaustion threatening to pull her into the undertow. But she _couldn’t_. Force help her, she had to keep fighting. Ahsoka rose from mud, kicking out with her good leg at Tech’s ankle. He skipped back, his shots going wide. She threw Tech into Hunter’s path and dodged Wrecker’s punch, sliding between his legs when he came at her a second time. She stole Wrecker’s blaster pistol and fired at his back, but he twisted and caught the bolt on the shoulder. Tech jumped her and she sank her teeth into his hand, clamping down until she tasted blood. 

“It’s over, Jedi,” Hunter snapped. 

It was never over, not for her, not for someone whose master had called her determination her best trait. Ahsoka pushed against Tech with the Force and felt his body jerk, but he was not sent flying. She kicked weakly at her captor as Tech wrested her upright, grabbing one of her montrals to pull her head back. 

“Hold still,” Hunter said. “I don’t want to waste bolts.” 

Ahsoka wrenched her head free, hurling her last pithy words of defiance at Hunter’s snarling face. 

The night suddenly came alive with blue fire—and this time, the Bad Batch was the target. Tech instinctively turned to look and Ahsoka stomped on his instep, loosening his hold, and ducked as Wrecker and Hunter shot at her. Four of their bolts struck Tech in the chest. His final moments of shock echoed keenly in the Force as he reeled backward, his eyes wide. 

Wrecker bellowed in rage and opened fire. Ahsoka rolled behind Tech, letting his body and armor absorb the shots until Wrecker and Hunter turned and ran for their shuttle. Seconds later Ahsoka was overtaken by a sea of grey and white armor, gleaming in the moonlight. _The Wolfpack._ She dropped Tech and ran with them, sensing rather than seeing Rex beside her. 

Three clones immediately fell to Hunter’s knife. Wrecker tossed the Wolfpack like toys, alternately smashing them with his prosthetic and shooting them with the blaster cradled in his remaining hand. Behind them, their shuttle’s ramp was lowering. Rex aimed for the struts, shooting until they stuttered and smoked. Hunter and Wrecker ran inside. Wrecker seized the edges of the ramp and pulled them shut. Hunter appeared in the pilot’s seat and the shuttle’s cannons came online a moment later, firing at the scattered Wolfpack as the shuttle rose. 

Ahsoka called the chipped _beskad_ to her hand and leaped onto the shuttle. She plunged the saber into the ship’s nose, slowing her fall with the tortured screech of rending metal. The shuttle bucked, but Ahsoka’s blood-slick hands held fast to the hilt as smoke billowed around her. Eight vertically-flattened bars of blue light shattered the viewport and Ahsoka dove into the cockpit, her _beskad_ already levelled at Hunter’s unprotected head. 

Wrecker charged up from the rear, grabbed her forearm, and threw her from the shuttle. The reciprocating quadblaster boomed again, barely missing her as it chewed through the shuttle’s engine casing. Ahsoka landed beside Rex, her injured leg folding, but Rex caught her forearm and held her upright as they watched the shuttle list, then dipped irrevocably downward, striking the ground in an eruption of smoke, flames, and shrapnel. 

The _beskar_ saber dropped from Ahsoka’s numb fingers. “We should check,” she mumbled. “We need to check. The first shuttle crash didn’t stick...” 

“Leave it to us,” Rex said. “You need a medic.” 

Tremor swaggered up to them, steam wafting from the barrels of the colossal Cip-Quad strapped to his chest. He jerked his thumb towards the burning shuttle. “Beautiful night for a cookout.” 

“Shut up, Tremor,” Two-One snapped. “Let me see your leg, Ahsoka. You’ll need bacta before we move.” 

Rex gingerly lowered her onto the dewy grass. She tried rolling back the leg of her jumpsuit, but the charred fabric merely disintegrated in her hands. Ahsoka swore as Two-One applied the spray-bandage to her burnt calf, the words slurring together into a senseless, pain-fueled jumble. “I ... I want a stim.” 

Two-One looked up from dressing her wound. “I don’t know if they’re safe for Togruta. Or Jedi.” 

“I’ll risk it.” 

Two-One obediently jabbed her with a hypospray and started to work on her thigh wound. 

“Cutting it a little close,” Ahsoka remarked to Rex. She was too exhausted for the joke to properly land. 

“I thought we’d let you soften them up first,” he said, dropping a hand on her shoulder. 

“Well...” She could think of nothing else to say, so she said, “Thank you.” 

“I’d never leave without you.” 

Ahsoka awaited the inevitable concluding _sir_ and was relieved when it never came. She sagged against his leg, ready to either cry or fall unconscious. “That’s right. You’re stuck with me.” 

“Until the end.” 

She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was smiling. 

“Is the landing zone still secure?” Ahsoka asked. 

“Yes,” Rex said. “Everyone here volunteered to rescue you—plus a few others, but they were too injured to come.” 

Ahsoka’s eye was drawn to the bodies littering the clearing and the medics tending to the wounded. Echo stood apart from the others, his helmet off, staring down at Tech and Crosshair, their bodies spaced less than two meters apart. Their blood shone beneath the severe glare from his headlamps. 

“All done, Commander,” Two-One announced. 

Rex helped her to her feet as she tested her leg. A dull pain throbbed from the burn, but it was manageable between the Force and painkillers. She limped over to Echo. “Echo, I’m—” 

“Sorry?” he asked, his mouth quirking at the word. “I’m getting tired of hearing that.” 

His tone was utterly neutral, as was his Force signature. Ahsoka tried again. “It wasn’t their fault.” 

“They still would have killed you if ordered, chips or no chips,” Echo said. “They were professionals.” He glanced at her. “I mean this in the kindest of ways, Ahsoka, but I won’t forgive you for something you don’t regret. Even if one day you do, honor them instead by telling people the Bad Batch gave you a good fight. It’s what they would want.” 

As Ahsoka tried to puzzle over his words, Wolffe, Tremor, and Rex joined them. 

“Casualties?” Ahsoka asked. 

“Fourteen,” Wolffe replied. “Six moderately wounded, fifteen lightly wounded.” 

“It’ll be tough getting back to the _Angel_ ,” Echo said. 

“But not impossible,” Rex added. 

“Might be,” Tremor said, flipping his rangefinder down. “We fought them for about five minutes and we’ve been lazing around with our wounded for another five. _Plenty_ of time for the Bad Batch to summon reinforcements.” 

As if on cue, a fierce mechanical snarl cut through the night. Strobing searchlights crested the hill moments before the juggernaut hauled itself onto the embankment, shredding the Bad Batch’s burning shuttle beneath its wheels. Its blinding searchlights snapped onto Ahsoka and the clones like the eyes of predator sighting its prey. 

“Ah,” Tremor said, hefting his Cip-Quad. “There it is.” 


	18. Juggernaut

**Sorgan, 13 klicks from the RV point  
5 days after Order 66 **

The juggernaut’s engines throttled to a deafening roar as the hundred-ton tank hurdled forward. Rex and the Wolfpack were already fleeing for the safety of the forest. Rex brought up the rear, alongside Echo, Wolffe, and Commander Tano. Tremor lagged a step behind, weighed down by the reciprocating quadblaster still strapped to his chest. 

Three mortars streaked overhead, then slammed into the Sorganese mud, blowing the front line of Wolfpack into the trees. Branches snapped and exploded outward, spearing two Wolfpack clones through the chest. The juggernaut’s anti-personnel cannons loosed a scattershot of scarlet rounds, fragmenting the retreating Wolfpack even further, but the trees were growing denser and soon the vegetation would be too thick for the tank to follow. 

Bars of Sorgan’s double moonlight flashed under breaks in the canopy, moving _towards_ them. A moment too late, Rex realized they were stormtroopers. The 834th fired, pinning the Wolfpack between them and the juggernaut, and forcing them back onto open ground. Commander Tano raced past Rex, scarcely more than a filthy blur as she pounced on the foremost squad of 834th. Rex paused to aim, nailing the stormtroopers coming up behind her, then followed Echo as the Wolfpack fled perpendicular to the ambush. 

“Wolfpack!” Wolffe shouted, his voice hoarse. “To me! To me!” 

Wolffe and Echo vaulted behind a deadfall and used the meager cover to shield themselves from the oncoming stormtroopers. Two squads’ worth of Wolfpack piled in after them as Rex covered their backs. Tremor was still in the open, the sole man between the juggernaut and the Wolfpack. All eight of his Cip-Quad’s barrels were trained on the juggernaut’s forward cockpit, but the reinforced transparisteel shrugged off the cannon’s powerful blasts. Rex glanced from Wolffe and Echo to Tremor, calculated the former two could hold their position, and sprinted for Tremor. 

“Tremor!” Rex shouted, grabbing the ARC’s pauldron. “Let’s _go_! We’re _going_!” 

Tremor snapped a curt response, the exact words mangled by his helmet, then bent over as he struggled to wrest free of the unwieldy cannon. Rex seized the top two barrels and boosted the Cip-Quad over the ARC’s head. Tremor threw the cannon aside and they dashed back to Wolffe as the juggernaut chewed the mud at their heels. 

The turbotank overtook them a second later and slewed sideways, dividing Rex and Tremor from the rest of the Wolfpack. They skidded just short of the tank. Anti-personnel rounds thudded into the ground around them, showering them with scorched dirt, but Rex and Tremor kept as close to the tank as they dared, relying on the juggernaut’s wide turning radius to protect them from its crushing wheels. 

From between the wheels, Rex saw Commander Tano standing atop the deadfall, shoulder-to-shoulder with Echo, Wildfire, Mack, and Comet, holding the 834th at bay while the rest of the Wolfpack retreated. Rex did not see Wolffe. He could only hope his brother was leading his men and not among the grey-armored bodies strewn around the clearing. 

The juggernaut wheeled around to pursue the Wolfpack and Rex and Tremor sprinted after it. The Wolfpack rearguard’s bolts skipped past them when they weren’t bouncing ineffectually off the tank’s armor. The Wolfpack could fight off the 834th. The juggernaut was a different beast entirely. 

“We don’t stand a schutta’s chance if we don’t destroy that thing,” Tremor said; evidently, the ARC had had the same thought. 

“We need a plan,” Rex panted. 

“Get on the juggernaut, go from one cockpit to the other, kill everyone, blow up the controls, and save the day,” Tremor said. “Easy.” 

“This juggernaut could be carrying three hundred clones.” 

“Scared, reg?” 

Rex sighed. “I see we’re pulling a Skywalker.” 

“If that means _going out in a blaze of glory_ , then yeah,” Tremor said. He held up his Deece. “Let’s go.” 

The ARC stuck his ascension cord onto his DC-17A. Rex copied him. Their rappelling lines struck just above the rear cockpit’s viewport and jerked them off their feet, hauled them through the muck towards the tank. 

A massive shadow hit Tremor from behind, yanking his hands off his Deece. Rex twisted to look as Tremor rolled to a halt behind him, wrestling with a huge figure in black armor. 

“ _Tremor!_ ” Rex screamed. 

The ARC won free for long enough to yell, “Finish the mission!” 

Rex’s ascension cord lifted him from the ground. He kicked off the rearmost wheel, his boot catching in the gears for a single, heart-stopping moment before the retracting cord dragged him across the rear cockpit. He pulled himself atop the tank and disengaged the cord. 

Rex chanced a look back, but Tremor and Wrecker had vanished from sight and Rex stood alone. The juggernaut had veered away from the ridge where the 834th had cornered the Wolfpack. Now, it was driving towards the river, north and away from the base. Blue bolts whizzed through the thinning rain as 834th and 104th clones fought. LAAT/is emblazoned with Plo Koon’s face chased 834th ARC-170s through the clouds. A gunship spiraled to the ground, crashing in flames. 

Rex had doubted he and Tremor could clear the tank by themselves; unaided, Rex estimated his own survival chances had plummeted. He had taken a stim before leaving the _Silver Angel_ to rescue Commander Tano. It was already wearing off; his vision was beginning to blur and his legs were shaking. But there were no alternatives. He was no longer the last de-chipped clone in the galaxy; the truth would no longer die with him. 

Still, he was a clone. More than that, he was an ARC and a commander and 501st, and he had promised Commander Tano they would see the end of the war together. He had to keep going. He would not let his men down. 

Rex engaged his magnetic soles to keep his balance atop the rollicking juggernaut as he sprinted across the rain-slicked durasteel. A surprised yelp cut over the roaring engine and Echo flew through the air, smacking onto the juggernaut at Rex’s feet. Commander Tano landed beside him a moment later, using her _beskad_ to clumsily arrest her fall. 

“You didn’t think we’d let you have all the fun, did you?” Echo asked. 

“You should head to the RV,” Rex said. He glared at Commander Tano. “Especially you. After the stims wear off, you’ll be in no condition to fight.” 

“Taking out the juggernaut is more important,” she replied. 

“Wrecker’s alive,” Rex said. 

Commander Tano and Echo froze mid-step. Commander Tano’s mud-caked face tightening with something akin to dread. “What?” 

“He took out Tremor.” 

“If Wrecker’s here, Hunter could be, too,” Echo said. 

Commander Tano limped past him, favoring her injured leg. “Let’s stop the juggernaut first. Then we can worry about the Batch.” 

The top hatch flipped open twenty meters away and a clone popped out from behind, hiding behind the cover as he fired on them. Rex threw himself flat and Commander Tano dodged between the line of fire, but Echo bulled forward, ignoring two shots through his legs as he kicked the stormtrooper back into the tank, then fired down. Commander Tano leapt neatly into the juggernaut, _beskad_ drawn. 

Rex got to his feet and prepared to follow when a shudder ran down the length of the entire juggernaut. He looked back as Wrecker rose to his feet on the opposite side of the tank. Wrecker’s plate had been melted onto his body, his scarred face now scorched raw. The exposed tendons of his cheeks and neck were made ghastly in the red light from the mortars as he scowled. Tremor had not let the Bad Batcher escape unscathed; blood sheeted down the right side of Wrecker’s breastplate and his prosthetic hand trailed wires. Wrecker’s fists slammed together and he sprinted forward, arms held wide. 

“Rex?” Commander Tano asked, poking out of the hatch. “What is it?” 

He shoved her back down, repeating Tremor’s last words. “Finish the mission!” 

She snarled his name, already climbing back up the ladder, but Rex slammed the hatch shut and planted his foot atop. Echo was already firing on Wrecker. Wrecker protected his exposed head with his prosthetic as he peeled an armor panel off the juggernaut and held it in front of him. The bolts whined and pinged off Wrecker’s makeshift shield. Rex and Echo split off on either side of him, barely dodging as Wrecker barreled past, swinging his shield at Rex and landing a glancing blow. Rex’s right shoulder ripped free of its socket as he flew off the juggernaut. His good hand fired his pistol’s ascension cable. The cable latched onto the juggernaut and pulled taut, yanking Rex back towards the tank. He smacked into its armored side, knocking the breath out of his lungs, as the line reeled him in. 

Echo had positioned himself over the hatch, firing at Wrecker as he charged his former squadmate. Wrecker’s momentum carried him past and Echo ducked under his arm, firing twice. Wrecker howled in pain, staggering to his knees. Then, Wrecker saw Rex hanging by his fingertips and seized him by his pauldron, slamming him into the tank. Rex instinctively curled his good hand over his helmet to protect himself as he rolled to avoid Wrecker’s fist, then again to evade his prosthetic. The impact crumpled the tank’s armor where Rex’s head had been moments before. His limp arm flopped over empty air; he was dangerously close to the edge. 

Rex expected Wrecker to kick him off, but the big clone lurched back to the hatch and ripped it off its hinges. Rex wobbled to his feet and slipped on the wet metal as he half-tackled, half-collided with Wrecker. Wrecker, unmoved, backhanded him—smashing Rex’s helmet into his nose—and jumped down into the juggernaut as Rex bowed backward, the magnets on his boots securing him in place. 

Echo rushed up to Rex, seized his dislocated arm, and pushed it back into place in a single sharp motion. Rex yelped in pain. His shoulder stung, but now it was at least functional. He holstered one of his pistols, not trusting his injured arm to keep up with the strain. 

“He’s trying not to kill us,” Echo told him as he switched the power packs on his blaster. “Only Commander Tano.” 

Rex lifted his helmet to spit out a glob of blood. “Doesn’t change what we need to do.” 

“Should it?” 

Rex heard the unasked question. Wolffe had wondered the same thing. 

_How many clone lives is a Jedi worth?_

The only answer Rex could give for Commander Tano was _his own_. 

“Not right now,” Rex said. “We couldn’t carry him if we stunned him.” 

Echo nodded once, slowly. “Yes, sir.” He dropped into the tank. 

Rex’s helmet automatically dampened the howling klaxon as he rushed after Echo, vaulting over the bodies strewn across the corridor. Rex automatically checked for survivors, but Echo—exceptional ARC that he was—had left none. Wrecker was ahead, shoving 834th clones aside as he sped towards the rear cockpit. Rex stripped a dead trooper of his thermal detonators, armed one, and threw it. The det bounced off Wrecker’s head. Echo recognized the danger and dove into a side passage, Rex right behind him. The explosion blew past them, flooding the narrow corridor with light and smoke. An overlarge hand snaked around the corner, snatching Rex by the throat and putting him face-to-face with Wrecker. Rex pressed his pistol against Wrecker’s chest and fired. Wrecker swatted his pistol away, reducing a fatal shot to a glancing one. Rex gripped Wrecker’s fingers with both hands. If he could just prize one free— 

“Wrecker!” Echo was approaching out of the corner of Rex’s visor. He had clipped his Deece to his belt and had his hands up. “You don’t need to do this. We’re all brothers!” 

Wrecker looked up, but the pressure on Rex’s windpipe did not relent. “You _shot_ me!” 

“I did it to protect my brother,” Echo said. “I want to protect you, too. Wolffe can take the chip out. You can make your own choices after that.” 

“I lost them,” Wrecker said. “I lost my brothers. All of them.” 

He sounded almost sad, but Rex didn’t have any breath for sympathy. He kicked futilely against Wrecker’s breastplate, his chest heaving and bucking as he fought to squeeze even a single breath past Wrecker’s merciless metallic fingers. 

“Me, too,” Echo said. “Remember what I told you about Fives? And the Five-Oh-First? You and Rex are the last brothers I have left. I don’t want either of you to die.” 

“We have to kill the Jedi,” Wrecker countered. “As long as we kill the Jedi, we’ve followed orders.” 

“We don’t need to kill her,” Echo said. “We can take her prisoner.” 

Wrecker roared, throwing Rex to the ground, his face contorting with rage. “It’s us or the Jedi, Echo! There’s no middle!” 

Rex sucked in a lungful of stale, smoke-darkened air and scrabbled across the body of a dead clone, seizing the man’s Deece and lining up the iron sights with Wrecker’s head. Wrecker turned towards him, close enough that Rex could saw his pupil dilate in alarm. 

Rex squeezed the trigger. Wrecker dropped at Echo’s feet. 

“Had to,” Rex panted, the hazy air scouring his throat. 

Echo’s hand curled into a fist as he looked down on his dead brother. “I know.” 

The moment existed in a galaxy without time, simultaneously stretching until eternity and lasting for mere heartbeats. 

“We need to keep moving,” Echo said. 

Rex swiped his pistol off the ground and took point as they charged towards the rear cockpit. Worryingly, there was no sign of Commander Tano. She must have taken the forward cockpit first. 

The blast doors stood open at the end of the hallway, but slid shut with a metallic _clang_ the moment Echo came into view. Echo cursed, sliding the last meter to the port on his knees. Rex stood to the other side of the door, covering Echo as he worked. The port whirred and the blast door whooshed open. Rex shot the clone on the other side and Echo went to work on the final door separating them from the cockpit. 

When the door opened, Rex was the first through, shooting before he even had a target. The 501st had rarely used juggernauts, but he knew there was nowhere to hide. He killed the primary and secondary gunners in his opening salvo. The pilots jumped up from their posts, drawing their firearms. Echo’s Deece chattered, downing all three. 

A maroon blur swung down from the ceiling and kicked Rex into Echo. An 834th officer stood over Rex, his legs shadowed by a commander’s kama as he pointed his Deece directly at Rex’s visor. Rex seized Phalanx’s foot, wrapped his legs around the commander’s thigh, and pulled him down. Phalanx’s helmet cracked against the floor. Rex staggered to his feet, weary and sick and ready to give Phalanx a quick end when a thermal detonator sailed past his ear. Echo seized him by the backplate, dragging him out of the cockpit, and shunted his dataspike into the port beside the door. The door shut and locked behind them. Over the klaxon, Rex thought he heard a gloved fist banging on the other side. 

“Sealed,” Echo announced. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“We should finish the job.” 

“A thermal detonator in _that_ space? He’s paste.” 

The blast door bowed outward and smoke trickled out of the bottom. 

If not for Commander Tano, Rex could have easily been in Phalanx. It was a tough realization to overcome. 

“Up and over,” Rex said. “We should avoid fighting our way through if we can.” 

An explosion rocked the turbo tank, throwing them against the bulkheads as they ran back to the hatch. Echo scaled the ladder first, then helped haul Rex up after him. The tank had veered away from the forest and was driving parallel to the river, chasing a band of clones Rex could not see beyond occasional blue bolts streaking up from the ground. 

“It doesn’t seem like Commander Tano made it the forward cockpit,” Echo said as they ran. He glanced at Rex. “Is she still alive?” 

“Yes.” Rex spoke instantly; thinking about it would have caused him to second-guess himself. He activated his comlink. “Commander Tano. Commander Tano, come in.” 

“...Rex...? I ...” Her voice floated out of the static, then faded out again in a harsh sizzle. 

Rex cursed. He had made his peace with dying, but Commander Tano would survive Sorgan whether the Force willed it or not. 

A familiar _snap-hiss_ registered behind him milliseconds before Echo was backlit with a brilliant blue glow. A sharp, cold burn stabbed down through Rex’s calf and he fell to his knees as Hunter leapt past him, a lightsaber spinning in his hand. The blade sizzled through the barrel of Echo’s rifle and Echo skipped out of the lightsaber’s range as he drew his sidearm. Hunter dodged under Echo’s arm, seized it and snapped Echo’s wrist, and used Echo’s momentum to throw him off the juggernaut. 

“Echo!” Rex screamed. He dragged himself to the edge, but his brother had already vanished into the darkness. Rex struggled upright on his good leg, his remaining pistol already sighting on the hated black armor. 

“Echo will survive,” Hunter said. There was no emotion on the Bad Batcher’s face. “I hope you live long enough to watch.” 

He deactivated his lightsaber, kicked open the hatch, and jumped down into the juggernaut. 

Rex hobbled forward and fell headfirst down the ladder. He landed in a panicked clatter of armor, then propped himself against the walls as he limped for the cockpit, his headlights bouncing over the dead clones Commander Tano had left in her wake. He could tell it had been her; there was too much blood and too few blaster marks. Hunter’s lightsaber bobbed up ahead, but Rex could only limp after him, always falling further and further behind as he struggled to raise Commander Tano on the comms. 

Rex stumbled over the lip of the first blast door and jumped the last meter, catching Hunter’s heel. Hunter swung down at him, the lightsaber humming through the humid air. Rex rolled sideways to prevent Hunter from bisecting him as he hauled himself to his feet. Hunter swung again and Rex fell backward, tripping over a dead clone. 

Then, Hunter turned around and kept walking. Rex rolled onto his stomach, dragging himself along the hallway towards the second blast door. Hunter keyed in a code and stepped into the cockpit, the blue glow of his lightsaber illuminating Commander Tano’s stricken face. 


	19. No Quarter

**Sorgan, 8 klicks from the RV point  
5 days after Order 66 **

“Finish the mission!” 

The hatch slammed shut centimeters from Ahsoka’s outstretched hand. As if this was just another operation, as if they were still at war, as if Rex could still order her around, as if she would let him and Echo die for her like so many already had— 

She seized the hatch handle, ready to fling it open, when a hail of blue bolts cut through the air around her. The narrow corridor rang with approaching boots. Very well—if Rex wanted her to finish the mission, she would _finish_ it. 

Ahsoka jumped off the ladder, landing _beskad_ -first on the nearest stormtrooper. Her awareness narrowed to jittery snapshots, stained by the emergency lighting and punctuated by the klaxon and the thunder of her stim-fueled heart and the screams of dying clones. Tears streamed down her face like the blood on her hands, but she couldn’t _stop_ with so much on the line. 

The double blast doors at the end of the corridor stood open, bracketed on both sides by stormtroopers. The stims propelled her past this last bloody barrier and into the forward cockpit. Neither the pilots nor the gunners could stop her and she could not _stand_ to look at them until the final stormtrooper’s head toppled to the floor a second before the rest of his body. 

Ahsoka shut the door, pushed the dead pilot out of his seat, and bent over the control panel, taking in the riot of blinking lights, technical readouts, and switches. There had to be an ignition key somewhere. 

Rex’s voice buzzed from her wristcomm. “ _—mmander Tano ... me in, Com—_ ” 

“Rex?” she asked. “I’m in the forward cockpit. I’ll be up in a minute.” 

Only static returned. 

A sharp pain suddenly pierced her lower leg. Her knee buckled and she collapsed against the pilot’s chair, slapping a hand against her calf. It came away grimy, but bloodless. The night’s stress must have been catching up to her. 

She wrenched her attention back to the dashboard. There was no time to puzzle this out; she would blow the whole thing with thermal detonators and help Rex and Echo finish off Wrecker before moving to the aft cockpit. They could not risk the Empire salvaging the juggernaut. 

The door slid open and a thin, blue glow reflected in the viewport. She turned, hoping against hope, only to see Hunter silhouetted in the doorway, his grim, bloodied features harshly lit by the lightsaber in his hand. Behind him, barely visible, Rex dragged himself towards the cockpit on his hands and knees, choking out a warning coming moments too late. 

“ _Rex!_ ” Ahsoka shouted. _No, not now, not after everything, I can’t—_

The Force erupted out of her. The instruments went haywire, showering her with sparks, and the durasteel warped beneath her feet as she rushed forward, _beskad_ extended, the Force chanting a dark and terrible song in her veins. Hunter held his lightsaber vertically, Djem So style, and swept it down to meet her _beskad_. Ahsoka parried, but the lightsaber sliced halfway through the chipped blade, straight to the core. She pulled the half-melted blade free and struck again, carving another notch a quarter of the way down. Hunter pressed forward, using his longer reach to force her into retreat. Ahsoka was forced to oblige, loath as she was to sacrifice her remaining _beskad_ parrying blows she could otherwise evade. Hunter was no Jedi, but he knew how to handle a blade and he only had to hit her once. 

Two shots winged past Hunter’s head. Rex had propped himself up on one elbow, his blaster aimed at Hunter. Ahsoka stepped in front of Hunter, preemptively interposing the _beskad_ between Hunter’s lightsaber and Rex’s helmet—but Hunter hadn’t been aiming there. The lightsaber slashed through the control panel and both blast doors slammed shut. 

Hunter swung at her next, but she leaned low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He landed on her in a clatter of obsidian armor. Ahsoka scrambled out from beneath as his lightsaber thrashed dangerously close to her montrals, finding her footing at the same time Hunter regained his. 

“You have no right to wield that lightsaber,” Ahsoka snarled. 

“I killed the Jedi carrying it,” Hunter said. “It was a fair fight.” 

Disgusted, Ahsoka retorted, “The weapons of my people are not trophies.” 

“I _deserved_ it. Deserved something back from you saber-jockeys who took _everything_ from us.” 

Ahsoka had no wish to hear Sidious’ words from Hunter’s lips. “The only thing you deserve is a quick death.” 

“The Jedi knew about Order Sixty-Six,” Hunter snapped. “They knew about the chips, but you were too happy to accept your slave army to think—” 

Ahsoka nearly tripped as she met Hunter’s lightsaber with her _beskad_. The saber blazed red hot as he leveraged his superior height and strength against her. Ahsoka sidestepped to redirect his weight, but Hunter moved with her, sustaining the pressure on her trembling arms. She twisted their blades out and around, nearly ripping the lightsaber from his hands, but instead the blue blade cut a ragged exit out of the impure _beskar_ , shearing off the top twenty centimeters. 

Hunter lunged forward and Ahsoka’s injured leg gave out at last. Hunter leapt at her again, but Ahsoka kicked him in the chest, buying her time to draw her DL-44. A red bolt grazed his thigh; another caromed off the lightsaber and two more missed as he dodged. He recovered quickly and sliced the barrel of her blaster clean through. She evaded his second strike, then threw out her hands to push him away with the Force. Hunter’s boots squealed a meager handful of centimeters back across the floor. 

The timbre of juggernaut’s engine changed as it ran out of riverbank, roaring furiously as all ten of its wheels spun out over empty air. The stomach-tugging sense of zero gravity caught up with her a moment later as the hundred-ton tank plummeted towards the river. Ahsoka wrapped her limbs around the gunner’s station in a pitiful brace as the juggernaut slammed into the water nose-first. She jolted forward, smacking her head against the control panel, but kept her grip as the juggernaut flipped over and began to sink. Water spurted into the cockpit from hairline cracks in the viewport, bubbling up from unseen holes behind the control panels. The tank shuddered again as it impacted upside-down against the river bottom, then groaned as it settled. Outside, the krill phosphoresced as they struck the turbotank, filling the cockpit with an eerie blue glow. Somewhere on the other side of the blast door, Rex’s heartbeat fluttered still. 

Ahsoka released the gunner’s chair, dropping to the ceiling—now the floor—and limped towards the door control panel. Water sloshed around Hunter’s knees as he rose to his feet in front of the door, blood dribbling from his mouth and hairline. Ahsoka struck out with the remnants of her _beskad_. The metal melted beneath the lightsaber; she lost another ten centimeters off her blade. Hunter staggered initially, but soon recovered. 

“The Jedi knew!” Hunter shouted, accentuating each word with a strike. “They _knew_ about Sixty-Six. Fives tried to warn them and no one _listened_!” 

“The Kaminoans covered it up!” Ahsoka said. “How was anyone supposed to know about—” She dodged a slice that came within millimeters of her left arm “—about the chips?” 

Hunter backed away, his sweat-matted curls stuck to his forehead. Ahsoka let him go as she pressed a hand against the stitch in her side. Rex was still alive; Ahsoka hoped the second blast door had provided him with enough air. 

“The Jedi were too grateful they didn’t have to fight the war themselves to think about it.” Hunter spread his arms, indicating the corpse-strewn, flooding cockpit. “Now look at us. Finally slaves in name as well as law.” 

“You cannot blame the Jedi Order for Sidious,” Ahsoka said, her raw voice too frail to support the full weight of her conviction. “He deceived us all!” 

“Echo said you left the Jedi Order because you saw through its corruption,” Hunter said. “You had your chance to walk away, but you came back to defend it!” 

“I was just trying to end the war,” Ahsoka snapped wearily. “We could have fixed everything after the war ended.” 

“ _We_?” Hunter retorted. “The Jedi never cared about _us_.” He leveled the lightsaber at her. “You’re no exception, Tano. You didn’t miss a second taking back your command—or sacrificing all two thousand of them to save yourself.” 

“I was never trying to kill them,” Ahsoka said. “They were my friends.” 

“I heard Rex calling you _Commander Tano_. Was that on a _friend’s_ orders?” Hunter’s face twisted into a snarl. “Face it, Jedi. You’re just as corrupt as the rest of them.” 

Ahsoka shook her head, refusing to let his words take root in her exhausted, pain-riddled mind. “The chip is controlling your thoughts. This isn’t _you_.” 

Hunter circled her like a jungle cat, his lightsaber held deceptively low. The water sizzled where the point trailed across its surface. “If you truly believe that, Jedi, then you’re blind.” 

Their fight was a graceless, brutal struggle for survival. Hunter hit her again and again, forcing her back across the rapidly submerging cockpit. She stayed on her feet only by sheer force of will, but each hit weakened her _beskad_ until barely ten centimeters protruded above the hilt. Hunter wielded the lightsaber to deadly effect, but Ahsoka sensed he was running out of energy. They both were. 

Ahsoka finally won a few vital meters away from the humming blade and Hunter did not give chase. Instead, he leaned against an upside-down chair as he gasped for breath. The temperature in the sealed room was sweltering. Ahsoka was too exhausted to press the advantage. She leaned against the opposite side of the cockpit, glaring at him. 

“Let’s die, then, Tano,” Hunter said. A runnel of sweat ran down his glistening forehead. “That would be best for … for both of us. We outlived our families. Outlived our time.” 

Ahsoka shook her head. “A thousand generations live on in me. I will not let the Jedi end here.” 

“Maybe you should,” Hunter suggested, his voice more contemplative than malicious. 

“No,” Ahsoka said, twirling the pitiful remnants of her _beskad_. “Not even Order Sixty-Six will finish us off. Whatever returns will be greater than he or you could ever imagine.” 

Hunter spat out a black line of blood. “Then I’m glad I won’t be around to see it fall again.” 

The control panel sparked and the door hissed open. A wave of water washed into the cockpit, carrying with it a familiar set of soot-stained armor. Rex released the wires in his hand and squeezed off three shots at at Hunter in less than a heartbeat. Hunter dodged both, swinging his lightsaber wildly in an attempt to deflect. Ahsoka seized her chance. She inhaled, drawing deeply on the Force, and launched herself out of the water, running atop the control panels. Hunter saw her coming, but too slow; she slipped under his defense and grabbed the lightsaber with the Force, pulling it towards her as she stabbed down. The ten centimeters remaining on Lux’s _beskad_ punched through Hunter’s hand, the lightsaber hilt, and Hunter’s breastplate, pinning his hand to his chest. The kyber crystal exploded. Ahsoka smacked hard against the viewport and splashed back into the water. Hunter lay draped across the control panel, his spine and legs bent too far under his body. 

Ahsoka pushed herself back up and waded across the dark cockpit as Rex fell to his knees. 

“You didn’t leave anything for me to do, Commander,” Rex rasped. 

“It … it was all under control,” she replied. 

Hunter coughed wetly. “Rex? Is that you?” 

“Yeah,” Rex replied. “Yeah, it is.” 

“Course it is. I never forget a smell.” 

Ahsoka slipped Rex’s arm over his shoulder, her legs shaking as she attempted to haul him up. They both tipped over, splashing into the dark water. It took two more tries, but eventually she was able to bring him over to Hunter. The shimmering blue light caught his brow and jawline, leaving the rest in tattooed shadow. 

“Listen,” Hunter gasped. Blood bubbled around his lips. “Keep Echo safe. Make sure Echo ... you ... remember us. Remember the Bad Batch. Remember Ninety-Nine. We didn’t live ... up to his ... what he wanted. He was the best ... best of us...” Hunter suddenly seized Rex’s arm. “Free us, Rex. Promise ... promise we’ll be free.” 

“I promise,” Rex said. 

Hunter laughed mirthlessly. “A promise ... from one dead clone to another.” 

Rex drew his blaster and aimed at Hunter. Hunter nodded once. Rex shot him between the eyes. The Bad Batch sergeant slid off the control panel, disappearing beneath the murky water. 

Ahsoka’s sight blurred and she slumped against Rex as fatigue overtook her at last. He staggered beneath her weight, steadying himself against the wall. 

“Not yet, Commander,” he said, sounding equally tired. “Let’s get out of here.” He pointed towards the middle of the cockpit. “There should be a hatch over there.” 

Ahsoka forged through the water, using the Force to sense the tiny seam in the juggernaut’s ceiling. She took a deep breath and submerged, setting her shoulders into it and twisting the ring, but the hatch did not budge. Frustrated, she pressed her hand against it. Cold, solid mud pressed back from the other side. 

She surfaced. “Blocked. We’re flush against the riverbed.” 

“There’s another hatch above the second blast door,” Rex said. 

The upside-down hallway was pitch black, but Ahsoka felt the water leaking in on all sides, dripping through cracks and gushing in from larger rents in the armor. Rex stopped just short of the door, his spotlights trained on a flooded pit in the floor. Ahsoka dove in, kicking twice before she collided with the hatch. She made her assessment and swam back towards the surface. 

“Blocked,” she repeated tersely. The water brushed her armpits when she stood. “Does the juggernaut have a bottom hatch?” 

Rex snorted. “I don’t think the gearheads at Rothana Engineering thought we’d be crazy enough to drive one into a river. There are two more top hatches on the other side.” 

Ahsoka touched the blast door, sensing the durasteel bowing under the water pressure. “The rest of the juggernaut is flooded. We shouldn’t waste our air if we don’t know...” 

“How far down are we?” 

“I don’t know. Twenty or thirty meters, maybe?” She glanced at him. “How far can you swim?” 

“Twenty meters would be ... difficult.” 

“Can you take your armor off?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Rex said. “I can barely walk. I’m dead weight.” 

“No,” she snapped. “I’ll help you.” 

Rex paused for just a moment too long, then said, “I’ve got dets, but the compression wave would kill us.” 

“ _Probably_ kill us?” 

“ _Definitely_ kill us.” 

Ahsoka headed back to the cockpit, pushing against the chest-deep water. “There are already cracks in the viewport. We can break out that way.” 

The water was almost to her neck as she dived down to the viewport. It was barely twenty centimeters tall—narrow even for her. She quashed her fears and set the Force against it. The thick transparisteel flexed, but did not yield. She redoubled her efforts, but she would have had better luck grasping the water around her. She had to focus, but her exhaustion and panic let that slip through her fingers. 

Ahsoka surfaced, pulled the remnants of Lux’s _beskad_ to her hand, and tried to jimmy the shattered edge into the hairline cracks. The blade scraped uselessly against the viewport. Desperate, she swam over to the edges, where Rex was already trying to pry the metal back from the transparisteel, his heavy armor anchoring him in place. Ahsoka offered him the _beskad_ and he hacked at the fastenings for a moment before jumping back to the surface. Ahsoka joined him a moment later, the both of them holding onto the underside of the pilot’s chair. 

Rex lifted a blaster out of the water and shot upward. The bolt only left a scorch mark in the military-grade durasteel floor. They stared at it for a moment. “Want to try the dets?” 

“You said they’d kill us.” 

“The way I see it, we’re dead either way,” Rex said. “The dets are just faster.” 

“We’re both g—” She spluttered as she inhaled a mouthful of water and shifted her grip a few centimeters higher to the underside of the instrument panel. 

Rex followed her up. His helmet now brushed the floor. “I’m sorry, Commander, but I don’t see another way out.” 

“No,” she said automatically. “We _promised_. We still have so much left to do. The _Angel_ is waiting for us. We...” 

A crazy scheme took root in her mind. The hatches were still serviceable, just on the wrong side. If she could turn flip the turbotank... 

She took two short breaths to brace herself and began to lift with her mind. The durasteel creaked as she seized the juggernaut’s entire frame. Her mind spiked with pain and she had to release the tank. She tried again and again and again, but she couldn’t visualize the juggernaut any better than the tiny viewport, let alone lift the full tank. 

Desperate, she drew on the last weapon in her arsenal, burning out her exhaustion and replacing it with pure, formless anger. She was _furious_ that she had saved herself and Rex from the _Venator_ , only to die here on the backwater planet, trapped inside a flooding juggernaut. Had they survived the Order 66 and Maul and the Empire only to drown? The Force laced with her anger, a scarlet flare blooming behind her eyelids, and she could suddenly see the entire juggernaut in her mind’s eye. Fury gave way to triumph, and her connection began to fade. She seized at the last tendrils of her anger, but she could not return her focus to its previous height. Not even rage could help her now; she felt ashamed for even trying. 

When she opened her eyes, Rex had his helmet tilted sideways to keep it above the water level. “Did it work?” 

“No,” she said quietly. 

Ahsoka wanted to offer some defiant rebuttal, but her arms sagged as she took in the truth. She was exhausted, tired beyond words. She was tired of being trapped, being hunted, being angry, and being tired. She was tired of watching people die, of killing, of feeling hopeless, and of letting everyone down. Normally, this was the point where she hoped Anakin or Obi-Wan or the 501st would hurry up with the rescue, but both her masters were gone and the 501st had turned. It was just her and Rex. 

“Det?” Rex asked. 

The only sound in their air bubble was the harsh gasps of their breathing, compressed and amplified by the rapidly shrinking space. 

“Det,” she agreed, the word dropping from her mouth like a weight. 

As the water closed over their heads, they reached out to each other. Rex gripped her tightly and Ahsoka answered in kind as the weight of Rex’s armor dragged them down. A faint blue glow filtered through the viewport, illuminating the two of them standing in the middle of the juggernaut’s cockpit. Ahsoka floated above him, anchored by his grip as he walked over to the viewport. He detached his last det from his belt and affixed it to the transparisteel. His fingers curled over the primer. Ahsoka rested her hand atop his. 

Together, they pressed down on the trigger. 

Immediately, Rex’s pulse quickened, beating an erratic tempo against her skull and setting a march for her own heart to match. It wasn’t the act so much as what followed. She had died once before, on Mortis, but she often wasn’t sure if that had been real. She had wanted to tell Rex it wouldn’t hurt and they wouldn’t be alone, but it was too late for words, so she merely pressed her forehead against his helmet and waited for the timer to tick down to nothing. 

Ahsoka slipped into the Force for the last time, sinking deeper than she ever had before. Its vastness seemed to expand to unknown reaches, like when she broke through the clouds on a planetary descent and saw a new world rolling out before her. But this time, it was empty. 

_Patience, Snips_. She heard Anakin’s voice as clearly as if he were standing next to her. _You will always find me in the Force._

That was it, wasn’t it? She _wasn’t_ alone. She had Anakin, Obi-Wan, Master Plo, the Jedi Council—even Master Yoda and the few scattered survivors, somewhere in the galaxy. The Wolfpack was waiting for her. Trace and Rafa were counting on her return. And back in her body, Rex was still holding fast. 

_I’m here if you need me, kid._

She drew on him—drew on _all_ of them, welding all of their determination together into a blazing light, so powerful it threatened to blind her. She poured their faith and love, feeding them into the Force like kindling as she stoked her emotions to a bonfire pitch. The Force blazed in response and she rose higher and higher, burning with power, stoking the flames to reach even greater heights. 

The juggernaut glowed white-hot in her mind. She felt every centimeter of the massive machine, every molecule of the water inside it. She felt herself and Rex, and the bodies floating beside them, and the ghostly remnants of the shattered kyber crystal. She felt every fish in the river, every speck of dirt in the thick river mud. Above, she felt the starfighters and the stormtroopers, the harsh rasp in Wolffe’s lungs as he drew closer to the _Silver Angel_. She felt Trace’s worry and the rubble sliding beneath Echo’s boots as he slipped down the embankment. Far away, she sensed Sidious stirring on his dark throne, but he could not touch her now. 

Ahsoka disarmed the detonator and ripped it off the viewport, pressing both her hands against the transparisteel. The tank shuddered and creaked as it jerked free of the muck. It rose towards the surface, sloughing off snapped guns and mud and cracked armor as it ascended. The wheels burst free of the river, followed by the rest of the machine. Ahsoka saw the shore and Echo beside it, backpedaling as the juggernaut loomed overhead, silhouetted against the fading predawn stars as water cascaded from the wreck. 

The juggernaut dropped on its side onto an empty stretch of shoreline. Billions of grains of sand compressed as the tank settled atop it, water still streaming from its wheels and battered armor. Ahsoka’s oxygen-starved lungs began to heave, yanking her back into her body, and with the last dregs of her focus, she blew out the juggernaut’s top hatch. Water surged outward, dragging her and Rex along with it and disgorging them onto the sand. Ahsoka flipped onto her back, inhaling the humid Sorganese air. At her side, Rex had yanked off his helmet and coughed up water. And farther down the beach, Echo was sprinting towards them, the servos in his damaged leg grinding together as they moved. 

They had survived. Against all odds, they had survived. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue is really short so I'm going to post the last two chapters together.


End file.
